#novigrad is still my beloved

[witcherislovewitcherislife]

took me 45 hours but i have made it to novigrad 🤣

[windflowerofskellige]

"does Philippa Eilhart know what you're planning?"

"No, she doesn't. She doesn't even know I know the girl's in Loxia. My erstwhile beloved Phil may put on airs and graces, but Vizimir is still the King of Redania. I carry out his orders, and I don't give a shit what the sorcerers are plotting. Cirilla will board The Spada and sail to Novigrad, from where she'll travel to Tretogor. And she'll be safe. Do you believe me?"

I'm sorry guys no one will be able to convince me he wasn't stupid in love with Philippa.

[jaskiersvalley]

Your safari au. Please. I need it. Water my crops with tigers and hyenas and witchers. Grabby hands and pleading faces in abundance here.

You are after my heart, Nonnie. And considering I've only talked about the Safari AU on Novigrad, I will happily assume you're lurking on there and I love you for it. Tweaked a little to add in a hyena just for you.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Taking over a park was no easy feat, especially not when it came with a reputation like Nilfgaard had. Eskel scratched his head as he poured over the various financial reports, wondering just how much of it could be trusted. The problem was Nilfgaard had been a shining beacon in the animal conservation world, exceptional facilities, high enrichment for the animals and a successful rehabilitation rate. If there was ever an animal in need of a place, Nilfgaard had been first choice for years. All that came tumbling down in light of the revelation that Nilfgaard had been trading illegally, their animals sold to private owners as exotic pets or, even worse, hunters who wanted a guaranteed, easy kill. The place had been shut down immediately, a skeleton crew kept on to tend to the animals but nothing more. Management was on trial and Kaer Morhen had won the bid to take over. Though small and mostly unknown, nobody else had wanted to touch the remnants of Nilfgaard so they were quite uncontested in their bid. What had seemed like a good idea at the time, an noble because it was in the interest of the animals, now was an absolute headache.

Between the three of them, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert could split most of the urgent work. They had Jaskier working on rebranding, Yennefer managing the board and Vesemir as the head. It left them free to run the day to day of the park, learning the animals as well as the people who they had kept on. But they were going to need more people to actually help the place flourish and regain its standing in the community. Which meant asking the heads of departments for who should be kept on and what roles to recruit for from scratch. The easy ones were things like hospitality, Zoltan had a firm grip on the needs of the park and its visitors, knew all the catering firms and how to run a tight ship. So it was one less headache for them. Eredin had stepped up as Head of Security readily once it was proven he had no knowledge of the animal smuggling. Again, his familiarity with the park was a boon, as were his connections, putting together a security team that could be trusted. Much more messy was the animal welfare section. Fringilla, much like Eredin, had stepped up to become interim Head Zookeeper and was doing her best. While they were understaffed, Geralt, Eskel and Lambert helped out where they could but much of their time was spent getting to know the routine of the park and its many animals.

"We need to know who we can trust," Lambert grumbled, leaning over the table where they had personnel files open. "It's impossible to know who was in on things and who wasn't."

Though, in all likelihood, none of the lower level workers knew that when they helped usher one of their beloved animals into a crate, they weren't sending them off to another facility or a happily ever after. But it was something they just couldn't risk.

"May I?" Fringilla asked, eyes roving over all the files. At Geralt's gesture, she began pulling some of them out. "You'll want Triss, she was a vet here, promote her to senior or chief or whatever you call it. She's solid. And Sabrina, she's great, works well with Triss. Retain Istredd, Mousesack, Calanthe and Eist too. oh, and Letho for the reptile house." As she spoke, she kept looking with a small frown.

"Missing someone?" Eskel asked. Nodding, Fringilla frowned. Without much care for manners, she walked to the cupboards and began pulling out files until she hit the folder of resignations and terminations. From there, she pulled out one last file.

"You'll want him."

The folder was taken from her and the three peered at it with varying levels of frowns.

"You want us to hire someone who was terminated for gross misconduct? Whose notes suggest he abused animals and has blacklisted from working with animals?"

"No. I want you to meet the whistle-blower. Cahir's the one who found out about the trafficking and reported it. Nilfgaard didn't take kindly to it and retaliated."

Not sold on the idea, Lambert crossed his arms over his chest. "His file doesn't look exceptional. Personally, if he applied for a job, I'm not sure he shines enough to even be called in for an interview."

It was a sentiment echoed by the other two and Fringilla had to fight to hold back a sneer. "Invite him in and judge for yourselves. Just because his record doesn't have a quantifiable or gradable measure of commitment doesn't mean he won't be fantastic. If we ever have a new animal in that doesn't need to stay hospitalised, I wouldn't want anyone but Cahir to help settle it in. Especially the younger ones and babies."

Against their better judgement, the three decided to follow Fringilla's advice and e-mailed Cahir an interview offer. The reply was terse but assured them that he would be there at the agreed time.

First impressions were, to put gently, not great. Cahir looked rumpled, bags under his eyes and his attitude was rather sullen. It didn't bode well as they sat in the office, Cahir an odd mix of defiant and subservient. At least Fringilla had the grace to push the interview forward as much as she could until even she sighed and leaned back.

"Why don't we walk through some of the enclosures? Make sure you still remember what's where."

As they walked, Eskel ended up next to Cahir, who seemed content to not talk. That didn't stop Eskel from trying to initiate conversation.

"So, what have you been doing in the three months since you left here?"

"Tried to survive."

The blunt answer had Eskel blinking, there were many things he expected but not that. "Oh?"

For the first time Cahir actually looked at him, sadness bleeding through his half glare. "I used to live on site, worked for Nilfgaard from the age of 15, took a full time post at 18 and moved into the small cottage in the southern corner of the land. They fired me, I lost everything."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Eskel tried to figure out just how much of Cahir's so story was an exaggeration. "Have you been living with friends then?"

"For a few weeks, yeah." Cahir actually scoffed. "I've been trying to get a job and living in a hostel off savings. Turns out, only having in-house qualifications does not bode well for prospects in the world at large."

Fringilla led them into an enclosure where the grass was high. From the looks and smells, Eskel would have guessed it was a tiger's habitat but he wasn't familiar enough with the park yet to know. He would have hesitated going in, especially in a group like they were but Eskel had to trust Fringilla as she came to a stop and they stood in a loose circle.

The house Cahir had mentioned was one Eskel was familiar with. They had often wondered why it was empty yet well kept. It had felt like a life interrupted when they had a look round, nothing personal there yet it didn't have the empty, unlived-in feel of a show home. In a way, Eskel was regretting just how poorly Cahir's interview was going because he could easily see them offering his house back as part of a contract.

"So why are we here?" Lambert's words broke Eskel's reverie. "I thought we wanted to go on a walk."

It was by pure chance that Eskel caught Fringilla's smirk at Cahir and the slightest softening of that stern expression in return. Clicking his tongue, Cahir shot Lambert a look. "Tell me, have you ever been stalked by a tiger before?"

"No."

"You sure about that?" Cahir clicked his tongue twice and the world burst into motion. From the long grass a tiger pounced and Eskel was not ashamed to admit he let out a surprised yell. He wasn't the only one though, Lambert gasping, hand at his mouth and shoulders up as the tiger took Cahir out. They went tumbling and only Geralt looked like he might lurch into action, taking half a step towards the animal and Cahir. It would have been hopeless though, the two were wrestling on the ground until Cahir was on his back, tiger hunched above him.

The first thing Eskel noticed was how Cahir's face was creased into a happy grin. He looked younger, relaxed and happy ever as the tiger licked a large stripe from jaw, up his chin to his hairline. All Cahir did was laugh.

"Yes, yes, I missed you too, Princess," he said. fingers loosened from the fur in the tiger's neck and petted along her nose with the ease of familiarity.

"What the actual fuck?!" Lambert all but screeched. "What the fuckity fucking fuck?"

Eskel had the sense to look to Fringilla for answers, even if he wanted to watch Cahir with the tiger. The change in the man wasn't something he could have predicted. Gone was the sullen, defensive and standoffish air, replaced by an easy smile and a look of serene happiness as Cahir looked at the tiger, checking her over out of habit, muttering about dirty ears and mucky paws as he went.

"That is what you won't ever learn from a CV and qualifications," Fringilla said. She was absolutely looking smug. "Princess came to us at 9 months old, from a circus. Had terrible separation anxiety and a host of other issues too. She wasn't doing well despite our best efforts. At least, not until Cahir took her home and cared for her during the nights rather than leave her in a hospital cage. He introduced her to independence, slept out in the open with her for a few weeks when she was ready to transition to outdoors." Much more quietly, she added, "She's not the only animal he'd done that for. To find out some of his beloved children have been sold hit him hard. I don't think I'd ever seen him cry before then."

Turning back, Eskel watched as Cahir was sat on the ground, tiger with her back to him. The slightly strained "oh no you don't" from Cahir was lost as the tiger pushed up onto her hind legs and flopped backwards. Had she been smaller, Cahir would have probably caught her like a baby. As it was, he grunted as the weight crashed across his legs and he had a happily chuffing tiger's belly to tickle.

"I assume you'd vouch for him?" Geralt asked.

"In a heartbeat." Fringilla grinned at Cahir but it was lost on him, so focused on Princess as he was. The others might as well have stopped existing. That was the moment Eskel knew his heart was in danger. It didn't get easier as time went on. Hiring Cahir was proving to be a good decision. He just got on with the work, never finding anything distasteful or below him to do. If it needed doing, he got it done.

Over time he opened up too, Eskel found himself wandering down to the southern corner of the park to the little house that was now full of life. He got used to Cahir usually having a baby or two in his care. Sometimes he babysat for Letho's hatchlings, content to have baby snakes trying to look around his arms as they learned how to cope with being handled. The friendship between the two was one Eskel couldn't claim to understand but they seemed to make it work.

"Knock knock," he announced himself by the open back door.

"Come on in," Cahir called as he wandered out of the kitchen. "I'm just finishing making dinner, care to join me?"

That was new too, Cahir was inviting Eskel into his life more and more. It made Eskel feel even better about what he was planning to ask at Fringilla's instructions.

"I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow. There's a new arrival that we think will need your assistance."

Cahir cocked an eyebrow and held up an empty plate in question again. At Eskel's nod he began loading. "Anything you can tell me about it?"

"Not much. Private collector got raided, had a few animals in his less than tender care."

"So they'll be part socialised, part traumatised. I can work with that."

Somehow, Eskel had no doubts about that. But he was holding back some information because Fringilla had told him to keep it a surprise. The next morning the transport van rolled in, a small group of them ready to handle the newest arrivals. There were a couple of pythons for Letho to bring into his fold, a parrot for Guxart to train into swearing. Last was a large crate. As interesting as it was, Eskel's eyes were on Cahir, the way his nostrils flared as he caught scent of the hyena. The box opened and the animal cautiously peered out.

"Dave!" Cahir exclaimed, all semblance of quiet professionalism gone as he hopped off the top of the crate he'd helped open.

If his reaction had been exuberant, it was nothing compared to the hyena's. They collided next to the box, all over each other.

"I missed you buddy." There were tears running down Cahir's cheeks as Dave alternated between butting into him and running tight, excited circles around him before settling down and trying to bodily press into him. Glancing up, Cahir gave Fringilla a wobbly smile. "How did you find her?"

Her? Last Eskel checked, Dave was a male name. Still, he wasn't going to interrupt the tender reunion with such a dumb question.

"She was part of a collector's hoard. Didn't have the right permits so he was made to give her up to those who could offer her proper care."

A broken "thank you" was whispered in her direction before Cahir buried his face in the hyena's neck. Eskel watched with so many questions. Thankfully Fringilla didn't miss that fact.

"She was born in captivity, originally assumed to be a boy, needed to be hand reared after mum rejected her. She never understood that she wasn't human and as a result has spent most of her life living with Cahir. We've tried so often to introduce her to a pack but she never took to them, content to stay with them for a day, two at a push before she starts pining. When Nilfgaard sold her, that's when Cahir got suspicious, did some digging and realised she hadn't gone to another park. So Dave is a catalyst for this whole fiasco if you will."

Watching them, Eskel nodded. He had a hyena to befriend if he wanted to keep Cahir in his life it would seem.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

WIP Game of Shame: okay first of all, how am I supposed to only pick a couple because these all sound AMAZING.

Jaskier's goin conspiracy board on his past life

Small god of Kaer Morhen

Hey There Cirilla

Viper!Jaskier

okay now that I'm not mobile I can touch on all this. :3

Jaskier's goin conspiracy board on his past life:

I think in this case you get an excerpt. :3

"He's definitely your ancestor or something!" Maddie told Jaskier with a laugh as she snapped a picture of him posing in front of the large portrait in the Novigrad Art Museum.

"I wish," Jaskier said with a laugh once she'd lowered her phone to post it online. "No one in my family history could ever have been this cool, we'd have long droning stories about them."

They'd come to the museum to get some pictures of themselves with the art, to prove they'd been so they could get extra credit in their art history class, and tucked into some little alcove of the labyrinthine exhibit they had found it. A portrait of a handsome nobleman posing dramatically as his sword pierced the heart of... probably a wyvern. Jaskier had never managed to remember the difference between them and dragons, even if dragons didn't exist anymore and wyverns were still out there, though they were rare. The man looked like Jaskier if he were about ten years older and grew a goatee, which had delighted both of them.

"Maybe it'll go viral and I'll get to be famous for like five minutes," he mused wistfully, while Maddie looked closer at the painting. It had been among a number of works found in an underground storeroom during a construction project years ago, painstakingly restored, and now finally on display in this "art of Medieval Novigrad and Oxenfurt" exhibit.

small god of kaer morhen:

So this is a fic about if a spirit were attached to Kaer Morhen that was essentially like... the guardian/patron of it and the wolf witchers? And I maybe used a conlang builder to make two different conlangs for it and if I ever actually write it I think ppl will enjoy it :3

Hey There Cirilla:

Dadskier! aka the modern AU where Jaskier is Ciri's very loving but kinda deadbeat dad, Yen basically raised her, and both Ciri and Jaskier get ADHD diagnoses and treatment. Jaskier's not REALLY a deadbeat, he's got untreated ADHD and depression, and knew when he was 19 and found out he'd knocked Pavetta up and Pavetta was dead that he wasn't in a position to raise his daughter in a way that would give her the stability and opportunities she deserved, and so he and Yen (her godmother) decided it was best if Yen raised her and Jaskier just visited sometimes, but now Ciri's having trouble in school and needs her dad and Jaskier's determined to figure out how to do better for her.

Features enemies-to-lovers (sorta) Geraskier, bc Geralt initially is under the impression that Jaskier actually IS a deadbeat dad and finds that unacceptable.

Viper!Jaskier:

aka by god still am, my beloved. That one AU where Jaskier was a witcher the whole time but had no memory of it. It was the first proper fic I started in Witcher fandom, and ONE DAY I WILL FUCKING FINISH IT GDI.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

If you're taking fic requests, for your swashbuckler au, could I ask how you'd think Jaskier would react to an *actual* sirens song? Enthralled?? Resistant? Sung promises of his beloved sea captain even though he's literally a step away, if that??? The irony got to me and now I'm just curious lol (ps your username is golden and made me laugh thanks for that lol💙)

(I’m so glad you like my url! I had a laugh coming up with it and I was really glad when it wasn’t already taken. I hope limrx doesn’t get mad at me for changing the canon of this au but just for this ficlet I had a great idea...also fair warning the ending is kinda Horny)

Jaskier didn’t notice anything strange when the Kaer Morhen started to round the corner of some tiny island while making her way out to sea. He didn’t know why the other men kept turning their heads towards the land mass and pausing their work to stare off at some distant piece of sky. He didn’t realize anything was wrong until Billy Jukes nearly threw himself overboard. By then, everyone could hear the singing.

Everyone except Jaskier. 

“Sirens!” Geralt shouted, grimacing with the effort it was taking him to continue steering the ship. Every muscle in his body was tense. “Cover your ears and get the wax from belowdecks! Run!”

Jaskier wasn’t hearing shit. 

Still, he raced to the hold and grabbed two pinches of wax from a half-melted tallow candle, carrying them back to the quarterdeck and thrusting them at Geralt. “Quickly, Captain, put this in your ears.”

“What about you?”

“I can’t hear them!”

“What?!” Geralt was shocked. His amber eyes flashed with concern and mild fright but he took the wax from Jaskier and stuffed it into his ears nonetheless. “Why can’t you hear anything?”

Jaskier shrugged. He could have answered aloud but Geralt wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway. He tied the emergency rope around Geralt’s waist, which was usually only used during torrential storms, and secured the Captain against the wheel. He wandered closer to the railing and peered towards shore. He could barely see them, laying half-in and half-out of the water, their shark-like tails stirring little waves against the surface.

Sirens. 

Their mouths were moving but the ex-noble remained unbothered.

He stayed in that spot until they were well out of range. When it was safe, he returned to Geralt’s side and released him from the helm. “Why can’t you hear them?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier murmured. The Captain could see how frightened his little nymph really was. The brunette’s hands fisted into the black cloth of Geralt’s shirt. “Please don’t throw me overboard, sir, please!”

“My sweet siren,” Geralt began. “And I can call you that whenever I want since we know for sure now that you have some measure of mer-blood in you; I will never throw you overboard. Your sisters would surely eat you because you were probably the runt of the litter."

"Hey!"

"I jest, Jask."

“My Estate...”

“Landlocked, you told us many times.”

“How?”

“Magic is chaotic,” Geralt shrugged. “No matter. Now we have a creature of the sea on our side.”

“Thinking about that escape in Novigrad...it makes sense,” Eskel added, wandering over. Starkey was close behind and nodding sagely. 

“No wonder you have the Captain so bewitched.”

“Oh no!” Jaskier wrenched himself from the pirate’s comforting arms and backed away, horrified. “Geralt, I didn’t mean to - oh gods what have I -”

“My siren,” the Captain smiled, stepping forward and reaching out for Jaskier’s hand. Eskel and Starkey moved away again, granting the two men some much-needed privacy. “My darling little nymph. My heart and soul would belong to you regardless of your parentage. I think there’s more human in you than siren, anyway. You still can’t hypnotize anyone with your voice or show them their wildest dreams in a song.”

“What did you see when they sang to you?” Jaskier asked, voice almost too quiet to hear. Geralt knew the ex-noble needed some reassurance.

“I saw you.”

“What?”

“When she was putting her spell on me and trying to get me to leap into the waves,” Geralt said, trailing his fingertips down Jaskier’s spine and lighting up every one of the younger man’s nerves. “She sang about you. How lovely she could make you look for me. How pliant she could make you be for me.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blushed. “But you managed to hold back until I brought you the wax.”

“No song can beat the real thing. Anyway, my little nymph, I’d never want you any other way than how you are.”

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Witcher, Poet, Fool

For @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo. This is a sequel to blood on the marble walls and living or dying first, but can be read independently. It can also be found on AO3.

Prompt: Showing off

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Rating: E

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Tags: Witcher Jaskier; Witcher Yennefer; Established relationship; Open relationship; Polyamory; Smut and fluff; Threesome; Pegging; Oral sex

Summary: When Jaskier disappears to take care of some mysterious “business,” Geralt and Yennefer are concerned that their lover has gotten himself into trouble. When they track him down in Beauclaire, it turns out that Jaskier has a secret identity, a glamoured ring that disguises him as a pretty bard named Dandelion. Yennefer has ideas about how to take advantage of the glamour.

In the two years they’ve been lovers, Yennefer has learned that Jaskier has an unparalleled talent for getting himself into trouble. Contracts that should be straightforward go sideways as soon as the Cat witcher shows up, previously cooperative villagers suddenly get out the pitchforks, crossbow-wielding bandits start popping up all over the place. Yennefer has been on the Path for decades, has seen plenty of shit in her career, and honestly has no idea how Jaskier is still alive. Some minor god or goddess must smile upon him.

So when Jaskier announces that he’s going off for at least a month to “take care of some business,” Yennefer is immediately suspicious.

“What kind of business?” she asks him. She, Jaskier, and Geralt don’t travel together all of the time— it’s uneconomical for three witchers to work together constantly—  but they’ve been meeting up more ever since the ugly business in Velen the year before. Her lovers are less willing to let her out of their sight for long these days.

Jaskier swallows audibly. “Some witcher business.”

“A contract?” Geralt asks.

“Yes, a contract.” Jaskier’s tongue flickers out over his lower lip, a nervous habit that Yennefer normally finds endearing. “One that I was specifically requested for.”

Geralt and Yennefer exchange looks. They both know damn well that Jaskier is lying through his teeth, though Yennefer can’t figure out for the life of her why. Jaskier would tell them if he was going off to see one of his other lovers; they know about the countess in Sodden, the troubadour in Cidaris, and the pretty young bard in Novigrad. The three of them never have any secrets between them, especially not about the people they bed.

“What kind of—” Yennefer starts to ask, but Jaskier cuts her off.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to be going.” He hurries to press a kiss to her mouth, and then to Geralt’s. “Why don’t we meet in Vizima at the end of next month? The city is lovely this time of year.”

“Is it?” Geralt cocks an eyebrow.

“Well, as lovely as it ever is.” Jaskier waves a hand. “Take care of yourselves, my loves.”

And then he’s gone in a whirl of his too-floral perfume.

Geralt looks at Yennefer. Yennefer looks at Geralt.

“Think we should be worried?” Geralt asks.

“He survived twenty years on the Path before we met,” Yennefer says. “Surely he can take care of himself.”

“Hm. Remember Brugge?”

“Fuck.” Yennefer lowers her face into her hands. “Remember Kerack?”

Geralt grunts. “We can’t keep wracking up kingdoms with warrants on our heads.”

“Gods damn it all,” she mutters. “We’re going to need to stage a rescue mission, aren’t we?”

***

“Let me get this straight.” Even over the xenovox, Yennefer can hear the amusement in Triss’s voice. “You want me to do a tracking spell on your beau?”

“Ugh, don’t call him my beau, Triss.” Yennefer shudders. “It makes me sound sixteen.”

“What do you prefer? Paramour? Beloved? Sweetheart?”

“I prefer a little less sass and a little more tracking.”

Triss, one of Yennefer’s oldest and dearest friends, sometimes lover, and sorceress whom Yennefer would happily strangle right now, laughs merrily. “Oh, Yenna, relax. Of course I’ll track Jaskier. It would be easier if I had some of his DNA on hand.”

“I didn’t have time to collect samples before he mysteriously vanished.”

“He didn’t leave you some as a parting gift?”

Yennefer bares her teeth. “I should have let that fucking striga eat you.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, darling, you have it bad.”

Yennefer doesn’t bother denying it. “I wouldn’t be worried if he hadn’t lied to us, Triss. We don’t lie to each other, not ever.”

She knows it makes her sound naive, but it’s the truth. She, Jaskier, and Geralt are always honest to each other, sometimes brutally so. It’s what makes the three of them work.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Triss says, voice gentling. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“Thanks, Triss.” Yennefer pockets the xenovox and heads inside to find Geralt.

***

“Beauclaire?” Geralt demands the next morning. “What the fuck in Jaskier doing in Beauclaire?”

“I think the better question is who is Jaskier doing in Beauclaire?” Yennefer isn’t jealous, not exactly. They all take other lovers when they’re not together. But she is annoyed, because they don’t just sneak off to Beauclaire to be with those lovers. They’re always honest with each other.

“Maybe he’s on his way to Stygga,” Geralt says.

“Don’t see why he would be. I don’t think he’s particularly close with any of his siblings. Anyway, Beauclaire’s well out of the way of Ebbing.”

“Hm.” Geralt stares out the window at the street below. “And Triss is sure?”

“I’ve known Triss for thirty years. She hasn’t failed me yet.”

“Guess we’re going to Beauclaire then.” Geralt grimaces.

Despite her worry, Yennefer smiles. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. A beautiful, scenic country with temperate weather and the best wine on the Continent.”

“People are too fucking friendly. The one time I went there, everyone kept talking to me.”

Yennefer has to clap her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Jaskier you said that. He’ll never let you live that down.”

Geralt only grunts in response, a small smile curling his lips.

***

Two weeks later, they arrive in Beauclaire and find Geralt’s worst nightmare.

“A music festival.” Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, most famed and feared witcher on the Continent, looks positively green as he looks around at the mass of brightly colored troubadours and minstrels milling around.

Yennefer pats him on the arm. “Perhaps we should call in backup. Jaskier may be in grave peril.”

“A music festival,” Geralt says again, in the tone most witchers would say, “a nest of bloedzuigers.”

“Well, I suppose we know why he didn’t tell us where he was going. He knew you wouldn’t want to join him.”

“And you would?” Geralt arches an eyebrow at her. “Thought you didn’t like bards.”

“Does anybody actually like bards?” Yennefer shudders. “Anyway, as long as no one starts singing ‘The Lilac Witcheress’—”

As if on cue, the opening notes of the familiar song begin to play somewhere nearby.

“Oh, what the fuck.” The song, written nearly forty years ago by an amorous minstrel who just couldn’t take a hint, is still one of the regrets of Yennefer’s witchering career. Namely, that she saved said minstrel from the bruxa trying to eat him. It was only her second or third year on the Path; her judgement wasn’t always the most sound.

Geralt frowns, tilting his head to the side. “Is that Jaskier?”

Yennefer has heard Jaskier sing many times. He does it constantly when it’s just the three of them— making up filthy little ditties about Geralt’s ass and Yennefer’s breasts, crooning to the horses, belting out drinking songs while they sit around the campfire. He even owns a lute, a finely made elven instrument that he claims was a gift from Filavandrel himself. But witchers don’t perform for crowds, especially not at music festivals. Yennefer thinks it must be a mistake, even as she and Geralt follow the sound of the rich, clear voice that they know so well.

They find a large crowd of people gathered around a stage, but the man singing “The Lilac Witcheress” isn’t Jaskier. The troubadour is a lanky young man with lustrous, shoulder-length blond curls, a long, thin nose, and cornflower blue eyes. He’s wearing a satin maroon doublet and a matching hat with an enormous peacock feather waving in the air. He looks nothing like their dark-haired, broad-shouldered lover, but it’s unmistakably Jaskier’s lovely, rich singing voice coming out of his mouth. And in his hands—

“That’s Jaskier’s lute,” Geralt says quietly.

Yennefer nods. “And the song…”

The version of “The Lilac Witcheress” being sung doesn’t have the simpering lyrics that have haunted Yennefer for decades now. Instead of the witcheress— a descriptor that has always set her teeth on edge— being a helpless damsel tormented by her so-called “monstrousness” and rescued by the love of the ballad’s hero, the witcher of the song is the hero. She slays monsters and saves lives, she loves and is loved. She’s the hero of the ballad now, instead of the prize the knight wins at the end.

There aren’t many people who see Yennefer that way.

“It’s Jaskier.” Yennefer doesn’t know how, but she’s certain that the pretty young man on that stage is their Cat witcher.

Geralt hums in agreement.

Their certainty is sealed when the bard looks up. Someone with human eyesight wouldn’t be able to clearly see Yennefer and Geralt from the stage, but when the bard’s gaze falls on them, his eyes go wide. His voice wavers for just an instant before he regains control of himself and continues with the song.

“Who is that?” Geralt asks a group of young women standing nearby.

“That’s the bard, Dandelion,” one of the women squeaks in reply.

“Dandelion?” Yennefer snorts. “Fuck, of course he would call himself Dandelion.”

The song draws to a close and the crowd explodes into thunderous applause. On stage, Jaskier— no, Dandelion— whips off his hat and bows low.

“He plays here every year,” another one of the women, who seems a bit bolder than her friend, tells Geralt and Yennefer in a conspiratorial tone of voice. “But he hasn’t placed once, which is a travesty. Money must be changing hands.”

“Well, everyone knows Valdo Marx has the judges in his pocket,” another one of the women says, earning solemn nods from her friends.

Yennefer scans the crowd for Jaskier and finds him, that stupid peacock feather bobbing above the throng of admirers mobbing him. She starts towards him, pushing her way through the crowd. When people start to part to let her through, she knows that Geralt is right behind her. Jaskier looks up as they approach and if Yennefer had any doubt as to his true identity, the beaming smile on his face would put them to rest. She would know that smile anywhere.

His smile grows sheepish as he looks between Geralt and Yennefer. He has a lipstick print on his cheek, undoubtedly left by one of his admirers. “I can explain.”

***

“So, Dandelion?” Geralt asks as soon as the door to Jaskier’s room at the inn closes behind them. It’s a nice room, Yennefer notices, probably the finest the inn has to offer, with an enormous four-poster bed and a fireplace. Trust Jaskier to spend all his coin on a room with a fireplace in the middle of the summer.

Jaskier looks between Geralt and Yennefer with a nervous smile. “I imagine you have some questions.” It’s bizarre to hear Jaskier’s voice emitting from that unfamiliar face.

“A few.” Yennefer looks him up and down. “First of all, how?”

Jaskier wiggles his right hand, showing off a spectacularly gaudy ruby ring. “It’s a glamour crafted for me by a mage who owed me a favor fifteen years ago.”

“So that’s how long this has been going on?” Geralt asks.

“About that, yes.”

“You need to update your glamour,” Yennefer tells him. “It hardly looks more than thirty.”

Jaskier sniffs.  “Dandelion has an excellent skincare regime. There are also rumors of a smidgen of elven blood.”

Geralt grunts. He’s still looking at Jaskier with trepidation.

“And why do you dress up as a bard?” Yennefer has privately thought that in another life, Jaskier would have been a good bard. He has the voice, the impractical fashion sense, and the flair for the dramatic. But he’s a witcher, and witchers don’t perform at music festivals.

“Because I sometimes need a break from the witchering.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “This way, I can travel the Continent spreading music and joy, not just wading through swamps and graveyards. Dandelion’s quite famous.”

“Not famous enough to win music competitions,” Geralt says.

“No, dear Valdo makes sure of that. Winning this competition comes with a prize of wintering in the duke and duchess’s court, and as charming as the duchess is, I try not to stay in one place for too long as Dandelion.”

“Valdo?” Yennefer asks.

“Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris.”

“He’s the one you go to Cidaris to see?”

Jaskier nods. “This was his idea all those years ago. He knew I needed a break from witchering after— well, things weren’t great for witchers for a while a few years back, if you’ll recall. I had a couple of close calls and decided it would be safer to travel as a human for a bit.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Yennefer sees Geralt flinch. Blaviken was seventeen years ago, not long before Jaskier decided to start moonlighting as Dandelion. Many witchers would have liked to take a break from the Path back then.

“Oh, don’t look like that, dear heart.” Jaskier crosses the room to cup Geralt’s face in his hands. “If not Blaviken, people would have found another reason to turn against witchers back then. They always do.”

“Hm,” is all Geralt says in reply.

Jaskier does the only thing that can be done when their lover is about to sink into a brooding mood. He leans forward and kisses Geralt. The Wolf witcher makes an appreciative noise, his hands settling on Jaskier’s hips. Yennefer is surprised by the shock of pure arousal that goes through her. Geralt and Jaskier are always a pretty sight together, but there’s something about the contrast between Geralt’s bulk and the slim figure of Jaskier’s illusion that’s incredibly appealing. Geralt’s large hands dwarf Jaskier’s narrow hips and even though they’re of a height, he seems to tower over the pretty bard.

Jaskier breaks the kiss and turns to Yennefer with a glint in his eye. “Do you like what you see, Yennefer?”

Yennefer walks around Jaskier and Geralt in a slow circle, letting her gaze roam over the Cat shamelessly. “It’s a convincing illusion,” she murmurs. “Doesn’t even make my medallion vibrate.”

“You know me, my dear.” Jaskier’s voice goes breathy under her scrutiny. “Only the best.”

Yennefer strokes a hand down his back. “You even feel different.”

“Some things feel exactly the same.” Jaskier shoots a wink over his shoulder. “After all, why mess with perfection?”

Geralt chuckles, watching Jaskier with open want. His hands slide up to cup Jaskier’s face, thumbs brushing along delicate cheekbones.

“Do you still have your witcher strength?” Yennefer squeezes Jaskier’s ass.

“Afraid not,” he says. “I’m truly the hapless bard I appear right now.”

Geralt growls. “That’s not safe, Jask. What if—”

“If I run into trouble, the ring is easy enough to take off, dearest,” Jaskier says with a laugh. “Oh, don’t frown so. Things were about to get fun.”

“So I could do this?” Yennefer loops her arms around Jaskier’s waist and lifts him into the air. Jaskier lets out a squawk of outraged mirth as she carries him across the room and deposits him on the bed. He looks up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks pink.

“If I knew I was going to be manhandled, I would have shown you my glamour ages ago,” he says.

“Why didn’t you?” Yennefer crawls towards him, moving slow enough to savor the anticipation in his gaze.

His tongue darts nervously over his lower lip. “I didn’t want the two of you to think less of me. Most witchers just go on the Path. They don’t take breaks to playact at being a bard.”

“You’re not most witchers,” Geralt says. “That’s why we love you.”

It’s one of the sappiest things Yennefer has ever heard Geralt say. Jaskier starts to get misty-eyed, but she doesn’t have the patience for her lovers’ sentiment right now. She pushes Jaskier back against the pillow and straddles him, before bending to press her lips to his.

The shape of his mouth is different, plusher and wider, but he tastes like her Jaskier, sweet and warm and like the mint leaves he loves chewing so much. He makes a soft sound against her mouth, his long fingers cupping her face. It’s so familiar, but so different, and Yennefer feels like she could spend all day cataloging all the differences between Jaskier’s real form and this illusion. But she has more exciting activities in mind, so she deepens the kiss and grinds her hips against his, feeling the press of his erection against the crease of her thigh.

“You’re right,” she murmurs. “It does feel the same.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

She nips at his lower lip. “I want to fuck you.”

His eyes brighten. “Did you bring your strap?”

“A brand new one. I got it with you in mind.”

He shivers under her. “Well, how could I possibly turn down an offer like that?”

“Just one condition,” she tells him.

“Anything, my darling.”

She kisses him again. “Keep the hat on.”

***

Jaskier is on his hands and knees in front of Yennefer, ass in the air. His glamoured body is smooth and unscarred, with a pert little ass, a narrow waist, and slender thighs. This will be fun to enjoy for the night, Yennefer thinks, but she’ll be happy to have her Cat with his hairy chest, broad shoulders, and muscular thighs back tomorrow. But tonight, she’s going to enjoy Dandelion the bard. She smooths her hands over his ass, squeezing the cheeks gently.

Jaskier looks around, a twinkle in those cornflower blue eyes. The hat tilts rakishly over his forehead. “I like the new strap.”

Yennefer looks down at the heavy cock in between her legs. “Thought you would.”

“It’s big.” His lips twist into a wry smile. “You just had to outdo both of us, didn’t you?”

Yennefer’s lips twitch. “You say that like it’s difficult.”

“Oh, you. I would be offended, if you weren’t about to fuck my brains out. Which if you would hurry up and do that, Yennefer, it would be much appreciated.”

“In a minute.” Yennefer presses a kiss to his back. “I’m enjoying the view.”

“Enjoy it later.”

Yennefer snorts at his impatience and looks up at Geralt, who is sitting in the chair across the room, watching them intently. “How’s the view from your angle, Geralt?”

Geralt hums his appreciation.

“I think what he meant to say is that we’re the loveliest sight in the world,” Jaskier says, then pauses to consider. “Perhaps second only to dear Roach.”

“I see this glamour does nothing to alleviate your ridiculousness.”

“You would miss it if I were less ridiculous.”

“Do you really think so?” Yennefer asks conversationally, dipping her finger into the little jar of oil.

“Imagine how boring life would be if I were one of those self-serious witchers spent all my time brooding in dark corners. No offense, Geralt, you brood beautifully, but every relationship needs a little lev— oh, gods.” Jaskier gasps as Yennefer presses one slick finger into him. He feels hot and familiar around her finger as she works him open.

“You know, we came all this way because we thought you’d gotten yourself into trouble,” she murmurs in his ear.

“My valiant loves.” His voice is breathy with need. “Always rushing to my rescue.”

“Instead, you were prancing around on stage, showing off for all of Beauclaire.”

“Do you have any complaints?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, even as his breath hitches when she slips a second finger inside of him.

“None at all.”

“I am truly sorry for the worry.” Jaskier arches his back in pleasure. “I never meant for the two of you to follow me across the Continent.”

“We’ll always follow you,” Geralt says. “It’s what we do.”

Jaskier lets out a breathy laugh. “Remind me to wear this glamour more often. It seems to bring out Geralt’s sentimental side.”

“Hm, no,” Geralt says. “I’d miss your real face.”

“Yenn, did he fall off of Roach on your journey south?”

Yennefer smiles. “You’re so pretty like this, he just wants to sweet talk you.”

Jaskier starts to reply, but his words end in a garbled moan when Yennefer scissors her fingers. She’s worked him open many times; she knows exactly what he likes. She knows how to make him moan and writhe underneath her, gasping her name as she brushes over that sensitive spot inside of him. His pretty thighs tremble and the feather on his hat sways with his movements.

“Oh, gods, Yenn,” he breathes. “Fuck, I love your hands. I love you.”

Yennefer is used to the easy endearments Jaskier spews during sex, so much that she no longer lets it fluster her. She adds a third finger and is rewarded by Jaskier’s hips bucking encouragingly. Across the room, Geralt has his laces undone and is working his prick with slow, steady pumps, his gaze fixed on Jaskier.

“Enjoying the show?” Yennefer asks him.

He nods, his fist moving a bit faster under her gaze. “Think you’ve teased him long enough, Yenn.”

“Yes.” Jaskier nods so enthusiastically that his hat nearly falls off. “Please get that magnificent cock in me, Yenn, or I’m going to die of neglect.”

Yennefer twists her wrist to brush his prostate, smiling triumphantly at his  cry of pleasure. Reluctantly withdrawing her hand, she slicks up the wooden cock with oil. The air is filled with the scents of Jaskier’s perfume, his arousal, and the salty scent of his pre-cum. When Yennefer gently begins to work the cock inside of Jaskier, he moans as he adjusts to the length.

“Feel good?” she asks and he nods.

“More,” he says.

She complies, rolling her hips to work farther inside of him. A surge of pleasure goes through her as the strap rubs against her clit and she lets out a little gasp. The smell of Jaskier’s arousal grows stronger.

“Gods, that feels divine.” Jaskier wiggles his hips, encouraging her to push in deeper, an invitation she happily accepts. “You always feel so fucking good, Yenn.”

Yennefer bottoms out, gripping his hips and holding still to give him a moment to adjust to the cock inside of him. “Geralt, why don’t you come over here? Give our pretty bard something to do with his mouth.”

Geralt doesn’t need any encouragement to stand up, his cock hard and leaking pre-cum, and closing the space between them in two strides. As Jaskier takes Geralt’s cock in his mouth, Yennefer begins to thrust. Jaskier moans in pleasure, which elicits a moan from Geralt. Yennefer fucks Jaskier hard and fast, just how he likes it, reveling into the gorgeous sounds that emerge from his throat. The feather on his hat bobs in time with his movements, brushing against Geralt’s stomach until the Wolf witcher tires of it and tosses it aside.

Yennefer gives him an accusatory look, though her heart isn’t in it. “I liked that hat.”

“Wanted to do this.” Geralt threads his fingers through Jaskier’s golden locks, tugging lightly. Jaskier whimpers in pleasure.

Yennefer changes the tempo of her hips, rolling them in such a way that increases the friction on her clit. Waves of pleasure crest over her and Geralt leans forward to kiss her as she shudders through her orgasm. Between them, Jaskier makes an appreciative noise and Yennefer fucks him harder while Geralt fucks into his mouth. Geralt is the next to come, moaning into Yennefer’s mouth as he spills down Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier releases his cock with a filthy wet sound.

Geralt bends to kiss Jaskier sweetly, his hands still fisted in the Cat’s hair. The glamour really does bring out their Wolf’s sweet side, Yennefer notes with a mixture of amusement and affection. Geralt reaches between Jaskier’s legs to stroke his cock in time with the thrust of Yennefer’s hips. Jaskier cries out, burying his face into Geralt’s chest as he comes. Yennefer fucks him through his orgasm, only letting up when he collapses under her, breathing heavily.

For a long moment, the three of them lie there, the scents of sweat, sex, and arousal heavy in the air.

“I should make the two of you chase after me more often,” Jaskier says breathlessly. “It’s such fun when you manage to catch me.”

Yennefer presses a kiss to his back. “Don’t go too far. Geralt worries.”

Geralt snorts. “I’m not the one who has Triss perform a tracking spell.”

“A tracking spell?” Jaskier laughs. “Yennefer, you really did miss me. I’m flattered. I never knew—”

“How’s your stamina in this form?” Yennefer unclasps the strap from around her hips.

Jaskier swallows audibly. “About the same.”

“Good.” Without further ado, she flips him over and climbs on top.

She’s not done enjoying Dandelion yet.

***

When she wakes up the next morning, it’s not the pretty golden-haired bard sleeping next to her. Instead, it’s her hairy dark-eyed Cat blinking at her with sleepy yellow eyes. On Jaskier’s other side, Geralt is nuzzling at his neck and making low, contented noises.

“Good morning, love,” Jaskier murmurs. “I see we tired you out last night.”

Yennefer raises one supercilious eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cat.”

He sighs dramatically. “And in the cruel light of morning, I see all the sweet nothings you whispered last night mean nothing.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, stroking a hand over the dark hair covering Jaskier’s chest. “I missed this.”

“Oh?” His eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Dandelion is fun,” Yennefer admits, remembering those pretty blue eyes and that pert little ass. “And I’m happy to play with him whenever you’d like. But Jaskier will always be my favorite.”

“Mine too,” Jaskier glances down at himself. “Playing the troubadour is fun, but it does get tiresome after a while. You’d never believe the number of people who try to rob or murder me when they think I’m just a bard. I never realized how many bandits there were on the Continent until I got this glamour.”

“Bet that was an unpleasant surprise for the bandits,” Geralt says.

“Oh, yes. There was this one time in Novigrad—”

But they never get to learn what happened in Novigrad, because that’s the moment that someone pounds on the door and a voice thunders, “Dandelion! Open up on the duke’s orders! We have a warrant for your arrest!”

“Oh, bollocks,” Jaskier grumbles.

***

“You fucked the duchess?” Yennefer demands as the three of them flee Beauclaire on horseback, keeping their gazes averted from the guards scouring the city for the runaway bard. No one has connected Dandelion with the witcher Jaskier, but they all want to get out of the city before that happens.

“Anna Henrietta.” Jaskier sighs dreamily. “What a woman.”

“A woman who is apparently married to a very jealous duke!”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Is she worth getting your heart cut out and roasted?”

“Well, no.” That cools Jaskier’s ardor instantly. “A severe overreaction on the duke’s part, I must say. Honestly, I’m far from the only man Anarietta’s ever fucked. There’s at least two knights and if she hasn’t bedded the duke’s steward yet, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we were here,” Yennefer says, cutting him off, because she really doesn’t need a full rundown of the duchess’s exploits. “Or you would probably be in a dungeon right now.”

“Yes, I suppose you saved me after all.” Jaskier smiles at her sweetly, before his expression abruptly sobers. “Though I’m afraid this means I won’t be attending the Beauclaire Music Festival anytime in the near future.”

Geralt nods. “Don’t think they’ll forget the death warrant on your head by next summer.”

“What a tragedy for the locals! What will they do without me?”

“Listen to better music?” Geralt suggests.

“How dare you!” Jaskier gasps and puts a hand to his heart. “I’ll have you know that my update to ‘The Lilac Witcheress’ is already sweeping the Continent. Soon, no one will even remember that terrible old version.”

Yennefer can’t help the little warm glow she feels at that. “I’m sure there will be other music festivals, Jaskier.”

“Well, of course.” Jaskier brightens a bit at that. “Oxenfurt is in a few weeks. And Vizima not long after that.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Geralt looks pained.

Jaskier laughs. “No, you know my secret now. There’s no reason for you to not accompany me when I compete.”

“I can think of several,” Yennefer tells him. “For one, music festivals involve people.”

“Oh, Yennefer, you sound like Geralt.” Jaskier waves a dismissive hand. “How do you feel about betrothal feasts?”

“Negatively,” she deadpans. “Why?”

“Because I’m performing at Princess Pavetta of Cinta’s betrothal feast in a few months.” Jaskier’s eyes seem to sparkle. “I intend to make it a performance that people will talk about for years. And the two of you should join me.”

***

Tag list: @kueble @buttercupsanddandelions @maya-the-yellow-bee

[wolf-and-bard]

@winter-fir: Sofia, my darling, this was written as a birthday present and with you in mind. Thank you for being such a delightful, funny, mad scientist genius friend, I love you. I wanted to give you some Arnaghad/Erland fluff and it didn’t turn out fluffy at all, it’s a rambly mess and I’m sorry. It did turn into a continuation and a prompt fill, I hope you don’t mind. 😂 I also hope you ate a lot of cake today ❤

Steal My Heart Again

Prompt: Isolation

Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik

Rating: E

Content Warnings: apocalypse-appropriate sentiments (aka hopelessness), explicit sexual content, swear words, minor character death (past)

Summary: This is a sequel to Drown With Me If You Can. Erland and Arnaghad have made it to the safety of Kaer Seren’s cellars and have to face life during the apocalypse. They cope in different ways. In which: Erland wallows some more and Arnaghad wants cuddles. 

Word Count: ~3k

AO3 Link I @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

In the latter years of the 1130s, a conflict between the Northern Realms of Redania, Kaedwen, and Kovir and Poviss sprouted up in which Kovir and Poviss petitioned to gain sovereignty.

Erland pauses to ponder his next words and in that pause, becomes aware of something stirring.

Witchers usually sniff and listen before something breeches their line of sight, but with his beloved bear, it’s even more intense. Erland can hear the giant’s footsteps pound in tune with his own heart as soon as Arnaghad rises from his meditative perch at least four rooms down the hallway. Erland can smell the endorphins that chase each other through Arnaghad’s bloodstream as soon as he calls out for Erland, still far away. They have a different scent for every person and witcher picking up on them.

For Erland, Arnaghad’s contentedness smells like toasted white bread and strawberry jam. Conversely, Arnaghad is reminded of the concoction of oils and herbs he treats his old bearskin with so that it retains its texture whenever Erland smiles. Everything about Arnaghad is intense, as is the emotional knot Erland carries tucked between his lungs, the one that is made up of strings of the past and present that have become inevitably entangled. There is no easy emotion here and so Erland shoves them all aside in favour of putting down his next lines.

It came to pass that, under the supervision of the Hierarch of Novigrad, then Walter Beda, the rulers of the three countries met to negotiate the agreement. King Radovid III of Redania and King Benda of Kaedwen sailed on the Redanian flagship Alata to Lan Exeter where Gedovius Troyden, then Earl and later King of Kovir, met them, accompanied by his wife Gemma. Thus, the First Treaty of Lan Exeter was forged, and Kovir and Poviss gained the right to call themselves a kingdom.

Erland blows on the ink and the smell intensifies so much that his mouth waters. He glances to the side to see the bear appear in the hallway.

“There you are,” Arnaghad rumbles when he arrives at Erland’s small chamber which used to be a storage for barrels in need of repair. He shoulders through the narrow doorway without knocks or ceremony, and his bare feet slap against the stone, warmed by an underground pool of water which is suffused by heat from the earth’s core. With the White Frost raging outside the keep of Kaer Seren - in whose basement they currently reside in - even that heat will fade and freeze, but it has not been touched yet. They have not been touched yet, they made it to the safety of this hidden hearth and it nearly cost them their lives. “What are you doing, birdie?”

“Writing,” Erland says absent-mindedly and growls when Arnaghad’s hulking form blots out the light of half the torches as he approaches the makeshift desk. It’s a splintered plank of wood propped up on two empty barrels, a third one – overturned – functioning as the chair. The rest of the room is bare save for the rusted grates in which the torches reside and a wicker basket full of half-rotten corks. The griffins used to collect them to fashion floormats for the baths with. The griffins that now lay buried under rubble, only a story or two above Erland’s and Arnaghad’s heads. He tries not to think about that as he writes, writes, writes.

“Why, thank you dearest beloved, I had not figured that out for myself.”

Erland shrugs and bends further over his page. He is halfway through his account and he has to keep going while the words still come easily and his hand hasn’t cramped up. It tends to do that a lot these days, whether from writing, shovelling endless masses of snow or from stroking Arnaghad’s oversized cock. The first one is a need to preserve what might otherwise get lost, the second a necessity so their one exit from Kaer Seren doesn’t get blocked completely. The third activity is all pleasure and indulgence and re-learning the body of a man he thought lost to him for so long.

Arnaghad, the obnoxious idiot, steps closer and squints over Erland’s shoulder which truly sucks up the rest of the flickering illumination. His burly hand comes to rest on Erland’s head – now freshly shaven into his preferred undercut again with his hair woven into complex patterns Arnaghad yet remembers from his home – and his chin presses against Erland’s temple.

“’Kovir’s Independence and the First Treaty of Lan Exeter’,” Arnaghad reads out loud from the top of the page. “The fuck does this have to do with you? Are you trying to write a world history?”

“You forget where we are,” Erland murmurs and finishes his sentence, placing a small asterisk with a number ten atop the last word for yet another footnote.

“I haven’t.” Arnaghad plucks the feather from Erland’s hand and rises a little, takes the bent fingers into his own and strokes along them to straighten them out, one by one. Erland sighs and sags against the bear, letting fatigue wash over him, wash away his ambition for the day. “You forget where you are. Who you are and who you are with.”

“I might have,” he admits sheepishly and closes his eyes, listens to the faint gurgle of Arnaghad’s stomach. It’s a simple, well-crafted lie. Erland never forgets and how could he?

“I understood the journal,” Arnaghad says. “Well, I wasn’t willing to give my life for it as you were, but I understood why you wrote it. The ice might melt, the beasts might return and for that, whoever is to inhabit this world may need the information you captured. But this is unfathomable.”

“Of course, it would be to you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” Erland says and melts as Arnaghad’s hands let go of his to gently massage his shoulders. It’s only when the static pain slowly ebbs away that Erland realizes just how long he’s been sitting hunched over his notes. Each word an investment with so little parchment leftover.

“Then what? Why are you doing this?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Erland sighs and ducks out of his lover’s grip to get up and pop his joints. Avoiding Arnaghad’s gaze, Erland extinguishes the torches with a flurry of precise Aards and makes to leave the room.

The bear wouldn’t understand in a million years why Erland writes the chronicle, would probably call it a waste of energy and resources. There is utility in writing a bestiary, there is only sentiment in writing a history. And perhaps a flicker of hope that whatever civilization rises from the rubble of the Ice Age will not repeat their forebearer’s mistakes. Except no. Erland may be an idealist at heart, but not enough that this hope has a chance of threading through the fabric of his motivation.

His motivation is woven in entirely selfish materials. It’s distraction, it’s occupation, it’s indulging in self-pity and nostalgia, melancholy and pride. It’s to keep himself from spiralling into depression and forgetfulness, to keep his brain from deterioration. Between fucking and eating and sleeping, Erland needs mental stimulation more than exercise.

Arnaghad, on the other hand, spends his hours in meditation and weapon-less drills, doing push-ups by the hundreds, handstands by the hours, pull-ups by the thousands. His massive body, in spite of the lethargy and sluggishness his form might suggest, needs constant movement. To prevent muscle atrophy and to keep himself alert and strong for whatever they have to face.

For now, what they have to face is endless isolation. Just the two of them, a slowly but steadily dwindling supply of dried meats and herbs, pickled vegetables and fruit, and barrels upon barrels of ale. Most of them brewed with the recipe Keldar perfected over decades of teaching young griffins to hold their alcohol alongside their swords.

Keldar.

Erland tries not to think of the old griffin master, especially tries not to think about how they found his body, a frozen statue before the crumpled gates of Kaer Seren, half-buried in snow by the time that Arnaghad and Erland fought their way to the keep. He’d survived the avalanche, had stayed at the school, and Erland had abandoned him. Him too.

Dear old Keldar, dutiful to his last moments. It was what every griffin would have done, every one except for Erland it seemed.

“Birdie,” Arnaghad says, tapping the side of Erland’s skull where his griffin tattoo decorates his shaved skin. They walk side by side, down the endless winding corridors of Kaer Seren’s basement system towards the centre where the heat is the most intense. It’s also where they set up their meagre bedroll, a heap of old linens with Erland’s quilt and Arnaghad’s bearskin on top. “You’re getting lost in your thoughts again.”

“What were you saying?” Erland asks and pushes open the door to their bedroom. Slap, slap, go Arnaghad’s feet as he enters while Erland’s follows after him. He wears both their socks, still more prone to the cold even down here.

“Nothing,” Arnaghad says. He stops in the middle of their room – all grey brick cast in flame from the torches Erland managed to keep perpetually burning. It’s a trick he perfected back when the signs where first developed where he can attach the power of a sign to an object. So, he tethered an Igni to each of the torches, and he did not tell Arnaghad that this constantly pulls on his own energy. The bear would worry and call that too a waste of resources. But Erland would rather be tired by firelight than wide-awake in perpetual darkness, calculating in his head the days that remain to them. “Come here, you look fatigued.”

Erland catches Arnaghad’s steady gaze, darkened by his heavy brow and chiselled face, a small smile tugging on his oh so stoic lips. His hair is neatly bound at the base of his skull, two ceremonial mini-braids framing his cheeks to either side. He wears naught but a simple set of beige linen clothes these days, linens that tug and pull at his bulging muscles. He’s more than a brick wall, he’s as unmoving as the very ground they stand on. Arnaghad cannot be taken apart with brute force, it takes more subtler means of attack to undo him. Erland knows them all intimately and perhaps that is exactly why Arnaghad opens his arms to him then. Erland sighs. He has the rest of Radovid III’s reign to chronicle and his stomach is still on fast-mode. The only reason he came here in the first place was… to… Erland sneezes and the torches flicker. He knows when he’s defeated.

“I am tired,” he admits and crosses the distance between them. If ever there is such a space, unbridgeable at times, invisible at others, it is because Erland put it there. Not intentionally and not always happily, but if things went Arnaghad’s way, they would be close always. The man that envelops Erland in a tight hug has a constant hunger for touch and affection, and Erland has trouble having that piece slide into the greater mosaic he has constructed of his lover over the past centuries.

‘You’re getting old and sappy,’ Erland said to him once, three orgasms into the night and Arnaghad still insisted on holding him close. ‘Sappy and cuddly. I do not recognize you.’

‘Nor I myself,’ Arnaghad replied. If they were other people they might have attributed it to love, how it had overcome everything, how, here at the end of all things, it was them against the apocalypse. How they needed to hold onto each other for there was nothing else to hold onto. But Erland is an idealist, not a romantic, and Arnaghad a pragmatist, not an intellectual, and so that was where the conversation died then.

“You should rest more,” Arnaghad says.

“What a waste of time,” Erland replies and rises to the tips of his toes, uses Arnaghad’s bull neck for purchase to pull himself up. They’re barely eye to eye, but that doesn’t matter when he can finally tilt his head and kiss the tiny frown from Arnaghad’s face. It’s a matter of last resort as well as personal pleasure. Erland is in no mood to argue about his newfound hobby and he does want. Wants so much, so deeply it aches to the core of his bones. They’re still working through their differences – and that, he suspects, will take longer than any written history might – but with each day, Erland can allow himself a little more. He can allow himself to slot their lips together and push his tongue deeply into Arnaghad’s mouth, can allow himself to melt into his bear’s arms and let his rumbling groan rattle his skeleton. Erland smiles at the zealous manner in which Arnaghad’s whole body responds to the kiss. His hands, splayed across Erland’s shoulder blades, tighten, his cock stirs when Erland licks and sucks and adds a moan of his own, his shoulders rise. He’s so passionate, has so much to give, something that Erland has trouble keeping up with.

If half of this witcher had been the one leading the bear school, where could it have climbed to? What could it have accomplished if the abysses between its members hadn’t been quite so gaping? Erland tries not to wonder, tries not to rewrite the course of time in endless thought spirals, but it’s so hard. It’s another reason why he has to focus on the actual past. Because if he doesn’t remind himself that it is set in stone, if he doesn’t capture it with his own words, he starts to trail down the paths of forgotten ‘what ifs’, of unforgettable ‘what ifs’, of the ‘what ifs’ that are neither forgotten nor unforgettable, that are too daring to even consider. Erland loses himself in thought and it is then perhaps a blessing that he can lose himself in Arnaghad’s embrace instead.

“Do you think we could have dinner tonight?” Arnaghad asks after they part, even though he knows the answer. It’s worrying, a true sign that not even Arnaghad has an endless reservoir of energy. His hunger is much more vicious than Erland’s and it’s getting harder and harder for him to wait the intervals they settled on in order to stretch the food as long as they can. Usually, he doesn’t ask. Usually, his voice doesn’t sound so small. Fuck. It’s heart-breaking.

“Not yet, big bear, I’m sorry,” Erland sighs and noses along Arnaghad’s jaw, then sinks back down to his feet and presses his face into the crook of his neck. Wraps his arms around Arnaghad’s middle. Is proud when he doesn’t do the mental math right then and there. No, he won’t torment himself and he won’t succumb to the slight growl Arnaghad gives. Whether it’s from his throat or his stomach doesn’t really matter. The sound pierces Erland’s armour, but it doesn’t shatter. He’s still strong. Can still be strong. “Do you want me to distract you?”

“Ah, birdie, didn’t we just talk about how you’re tired?”

“I’d make a joke about being hungry myself,” Erland mutters, then licks over Arnaghad’s pulse point insistently. “But last I checked, your sense of humour is still as barren as the Korath desert.”

Arnaghad chuckles and the motion slightly shakes Erland where he rests against the bear’s chest. He lets his hand slide down to gingerly palm across Arnaghad’s half-hard cock and it rises to the touch, firms up. He closes his eyes and sucks on his own bottom lip. So easy to please.

“Says the man who thinks fun is a torture device,” Arnaghad retorts on a sigh and as such, it lacks an edge. Erland deftly plucks at the fastenings of the linen trousers and slips his hand into them. Arnaghad’s flesh is hot and solid, too big to wrap his fingers around.

“Alas,” Erland murmurs against the skin of Arnaghad’s neck, cranes his own to nibble on the bear’s jawbone, tracing it with his tongue. “My hand is tried from writing all morning.”

“All day more like,” Arnaghad grumbles.

“Even worse. It’s of no use now.” And with that, he gently guides Arnaghad to the corner where their makeshift bed is, bids him to sit down and takes his own place in Arnaghad’s lap with his belly pressed to the warm floor. Propped up on his elbows, Erland peers up at Arnaghad. From this low, the man seems taller than a mountain, his eyes far away, half-lidded and hazy and Erland smiles. He is tired, yes, so very tired, and that means he is sloppy. Sloppy as he descends over the head of Arnaghad’s massive cock which tastes salty and musky and he laps it all up he goes with lazy drags of his tongue. His lips are loose and his hands looser as they fondle Arnaghad’s cock at the base, toy with his balls.

Before long, spit leaks out of the corners of his mouth and runs down Arnaghad’s length and the low moans of the bear thunder through the hall, echo off the walls, loud enough to raise the dead, Erland thinks sometimes. He wishes he could revive his brothers and sons by cock-sucking alone, but the world has never been that simple. And it won’t ever be now. But if he can give Arnaghad pleasure and himself something to get distracted by then that should be enough.

Erland gets drunk on Arnaghad’s cock, chokes on it as he ruts into the floor without shame. They come within seconds of each other and Erland drinks up what he can, lets the rest spill over Arnaghad’s lap, then cleans that with his tongue too. After, he falls asleep there, curled into a ball in Arnaghad’s lap and it is enough. For now.

[borealwrites]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

We Are Made From Stardust, My Love

Triggers: Major Character Death x2, but there’s a happy ending!

————————

“Your beauty is beyond compare, my love,” Jaskier whispered in the dead of night, his lips pressed against Geralt’s neck as they lie together in an inn. He is young and naive, but Geralt cannot let him go. “Your hair is spun moonlight, and your eyes two glowing suns. Your heart shines like Venus herself, your kindness as boundless as the sky. You were made by the gods from stardust, my darling.”

“Even Mother Nature pales before you, dear heart. Your hair like the freshest of snows, your eyes lovelier than any flower found in Brokilon Forest. Your love is more pure than any spring, and your wisdom as vast as the sea.” Jaskier sighed as Geralt pressed him into their bedroll, their campfire crackling behind them. He’s older now, wiser. And still he chooses Geralt every year.

“The finest craftsman in all of Novigrad cannot make something more lovely than you, my white wolf,” Jaskier murmurs in the early hours of the morning, cuddled in their bed at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier’s hair is silver with age, but his eyes are still bright, his voice still strong. “Your hair softer and more lovely than any silk, and your eyes brighter than any jewel. Your love glows hotter than any blacksmith’s forge, and your wit sharper than any crafted blade.”

“You are lovely, my beloved witcher,” Jaskier’s voice crackles with age. He is old now, so very old, but he still looks at Geralt with love-bright eyes, though his hands shake as Geralt holds them. He’s weak, and Geralt knows they don’t have much more time. Jaskier takes a rattling breath. “I want to become the wind that brushes through your hair, the starlight that shines in your eyes. May my love give you strength when you are weak, my voice guide you when you are lost.”

Geralt bows his head, his eyes burning as he stares at the fresh earth covering his beloved’s grave. Tears drip from his eyes. “You said once I was made from stardust. I do not have pretty words like you, I cannot compare you to anything lovely. I was only beautiful to you, but you were gorgeous to the world. People have compared your laugh to sunlight through trees, your singing to the warmth of a fire. How can I compete with what they say? You were my light, my hope, my strength. I will miss you.”

Geralt is old now. So old. His joints ache, and his body complains as he lays himself down by Jaskier’s grave. He stares up at the sky, stars shimmering above him. “You too were made of stardust. Your hair felt better than the wan light of the moon, and your eyes glittered brighter than these stars I see. Your soul shone like sunlight off of water, your kindness burned brighter than a meteor. I wish… I wish I could see you again.” And he closes his eyes.

It feels good to finally rest.

“Geralt, darling, get up.” Jaskier’s voice rings in his ears, and Geralt’s eyes fly open. He sits up, feeling better than he has in decades. Standing next to him is his love, smiling, looking exactly as he had in that tavern in Posada so many years ago.

“Jaskier?” Geralt chokes out, and his darling offers him a hand. He takes it, and, with a surprising show of force, Jaskier hauls Geralt to his feet. He feels lighter, somehow, as he pulls Jaskier into a crushing embrace. “How are you here?”

Geralt finally pulls away. He looks down at himself- he’s once again young, and strong, able to protect. His body and armor looks… odd. Only then does he notice how Jaskier glitters and shines, much like himself. His beloved offers him a blinding white smile.

“We are made of stardust, my love.”

[thirstyforred]

I think i lost like 20 minutes just looking at the wall at some point, but fuck it either way it goes to my "JdA/Rejk modern AU, totally only vaguely inspired by Hannibal NBC"

During the days it was always bight inside the great library - all thanks white marbles shipped to Novigrad from ancient ruins littering the banks of Pontar and the glass dome right in the center of the structure. The light would fall through the stained glass and reflect the lives of saints on the floors of the library. Looking clockwise from the main entrance there were four of them. Saint Gregory, the patron of warriors and protector, depicted as in his legend, still preaching while fighting heretics bend on killing him, his words for full of truth and fire, the attackers and he himself all burned alive. Saint Anselm, the pilgrim, shown evangelizing, bringing coals, woods, and the Eternal Fire to commoners, sitting on the simple chair, wearing bright red robes as the first Hierarch of the church. Then was George the Ascetic - once a wealthy nobleman and merchant, yet during the Great Famine he too started lighting the fire and looking for hope, and he sacrificed his fortune to save the city. Shown giving away all he ever possessed, his gold, his clothes, his food, and even his own blood, lightning fires with the torch in his hand. And of course the last one, Lebioda, beloved by children evangelists who traveled the whole continent and fought the dragon. And died to the beast, but the legend never focuses on that aspect so much. Depicted with a bright torch in his right and an open book of sermons in left, overtaken, but not overwhelmed, by the giant shadow of the dragon. The fire of each saint raised spiraling in stark red towards the center of the dome. And there was Jacques de Aldersbeg, sitting at the table right underneath the center of the spiral. "Stradidd Of Talgar when creating his The life and fire four Saints was inspired by frescos unearthed from Shaerrawedd. The mysterious artworks left by Aen Seidhe, puzzles for us to figure out, but with no real answers. The Spiral that keeps on, both twisting into itself and unraveling. Eternal like the fire, marking both the beginning and the end." Hubert stopped to the right of the man, who now leaned back in his chair, looking up at the Spiral above him. "At least that's what Roderick de Novembre claims in his works..."

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.5 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: 

Your kind words and reviews mean a lot to me, so please don’t afraid to leave a message/comment!

Summary: Gaining the information you needed isn’t easy, and brings up old memories.

Warnings: language, mentions of death/killing/blood

Words: 2,043

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Night cascaded the sky around you — it wasn’t nearly as dark as it was in the village you and Jaskier had been holed up in, but the city of Novigrad still had a way of surprising you. The torches only lit the streets enough to see a couple feet ahead of you, but the darkness was comforting. It made you wonder what Jaskier was doing right now, as you made your way towards Arnet’s guild.

To say being back in Novigrad was strange would be an understatement. The nearer you got to the city, the worse your stomach churned. It reminded you of the months prior, of the incident with Rauf and Jaskier and how everything that you once knew seemed to fall apart.

But being completely honest, your life was better than it had ever been. You were happy, you felt safer — despite constantly fearing someone after you or Jaskier’s head. But being with Jaskier did make you calmer, as Geralt noted. You weren’t a machine like Rauf once saw you. You were just…you.

But now, with your cloak hood hiding your face as you wandered the alleyways of Novigrad, you felt more like your old self than you had in a while. The patch that you re-sewed into your cloak felt like it weighed a ton on the fabric, but still, you kept walking. Because you were going to get the information you needed, no matter the cost.

You rounded the corner on the street to Arnet’s guild, slowing your steps as you neared the main entrance.

The last time you were here, Rauf had just died by your knife. His lifeless eyes still haunted your dreams, but being back in the city made you think you would see them around every corner.

You were glad when the door hatch opened before you, where a woman grimaced at your figure.

Silently, you flipped the collar of your cloak so the woman could see your patch.

“Y/N.”

You weren’t completely surprised that she knew who you were — you were more…unsettled.

Walking through the familiar guild had you internally cringing. Assassins all around were sharpening weapons, healing their wounds, hanging around. More than anything, you wanted to exterminate this guild just like your own. But you knew doing that, right now, wasn’t the right choice. Until you found what you were looking for, these people would have to continue on killing others for nothing but coin. You hoped, at the least, that some of these people felt the heavy weight of guilt that you did.

But you doubted that.

As soon as you were lead to Arnet’s room, he got up to greet you, “Y/N. It’s a pleasure, as always.”

You nodded, forcing a small smile on your face as he clapped his hand to your shoulder. “What do I owe this pleasure, child?”

You shifted under his gaze, swallowing the lump in your throat. Though you were far from being an assassin, you had the urge to stab him right there, to end both the suffering you were feeling and the suffering that he would inevitably bring to others — by his hand, or by the members of his guild. Instead, you shook it off, and cleared your throat.

“I have to be honest, Arnet. I didn’t come to catch up.”

Arnet nodded and walked over to the seating area in his room. “I figured as much. You were always a bit more serious than your uncle, though that isn’t a bad thing.”

The words stung you, but you masked it. “I came to ask about my mother."

“I can’t say I know too much. Why do you ask?”

You froze. In all the time it took to come back here, you never really came up with a plan. You tried to, multiple times, but then would get distracted by other nerves. But in this moment, a conversation with Rauf entered your mind. It was after one of your visits to Arnet, when you were still too young to go on your own missions. Rauf was mostly talking to himself, but he spoke aloud: Arnet is a bit of a stubborn bastard. But he knows the sweet taste of revenge. The need for justice.

You took in a breath, shoving the memory of Rauf to the back of your mind before it made you want to smash something.

“Rauf told me the truth. The night before he died.” You swallowed down your lies as Arnet tilted his head. “I’m sure you knew already. That he killed my father.”

Arnet blinked, not showing any other emotion on his face. “I did.”

“He…he told me of the betrayal my mother showed him. That she didn’t remain loyal. But he also told me that he couldn’t kill her for the heartbreak she forced upon him.” You had to swallow the bile that rose in your throat. These lies you spoke made your tongue feel heavy, your saliva thick. “I want to finish what Rauf couldn’t. But his journals leave no trace of her. I can understand why, but…I thought you might be able to help.”

Arnet considered you for a moment. You may have been seen as sort of family to him, but that didn’t mean you were close. You couldn’t read his expression as he took a sip of his drink, so you kept your face as stoic as possible. Stiff as a sober Geralt, Jaskier would say.

“Though I don’t know if this is the best way to spend your time, I can respect the drive you show.” You nodded, hiding the desperation in your eyes. “But I hate to tell you that I don’t have a clue where your mother could be.”

This time, you visibly shrunk in your spot. The disappointment filled your eyes, nearly consuming your thoughts. But you weren’t giving up that easily. “What about the village I grew up in? Do you know where that is?”

Arnet nodded, “It’s in Velen. Not far from the crossroads. But I doubt that she stayed there.”

“Of course.” The fact didn’t matter. You were tempted to jump out of your seat then, to get on your horse and find the village by morning. Even then, you would have more of a lead as to where your mother went. But the sense in you kept you put. You needed more information, just in case.

“And…what do you know about my mother?”

Arnet sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve only heard of your mother through your uncle. She was a beauty, but many women like that are…trouble. Your uncle had his head in the clouds. I told him that more often than he could count, and he always told me to piss off.”

“Sounds about right.”

Arnet chuckled, continuing on with a small smile. He looked like a simple old man telling a story of an old friend; it almost calmed you, until you realized who he was, and who his friend was.

You frowned as he spoke, “He was quite the romantic. Wanted to give your mother everything she wanted —buy her land for a farm, get her a shop to sell her goods. He was ready to give up everything for her. And for you.”

You blinked away the anger that had begun to form in your eyes. If he was such a romantic, he could have left you and your family alone. He could have let his ‘beloved’ live the life she wanted to instead of the one he wanted her to.

He gave up everything for you. That must have meant he gave up his morals, his honor, his humanity, as well. And that was not something to be proud of.

Noticing the amount of time he had been talking, Arnet faltered. He leaned forward in his seat. “Maybe I can find some of my men to help you on your journey. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind—“

“No.” You backtracked, realizing how panicked you sounded, “I mean, I need to do this alone.”

“I understand.” Arnet smiled at you, just for a moment, before standing up. “Well, I’m afraid that is all the information I have for you.”

You stood up as well, “Thank you, Arnet. Really.”

“Thank you, Y/N. For carrying your the burden’s your uncle couldn’t seem to fulfill.”

You couldn’t help the memories that surfaced to your brain. Rauf’s blood. His eyes, glazed over. But unlike from your dreams, these memories made you straighten your back, clench your jaw. Because though Rauf seemed to haunt you, you were glad he was out of this world. Dead. And one day, you would be glad to see Arnet in his place as well.

You nodded your head at the man in front of you, looking straight into his eyes as you spoke. “It is my honor.”

—

As you descended the path away from Novigrad, you realized you hadn’t gotten there in the middle of the night, but rather the end. The sun had already begun to rise as you and Buttercup gradually left the city behind you. The further you got, the better you felt — though now, there was a new feeling rising in your chest. Hope, yes, but also worry. Now that you knew where to go to find your mother, you wondered what would be there to greet you. You didn’t let yourself believe she would still be there, because you knew she wouldn’t. But still, you hoped there would be more of a clue of where she had gone.

Your mind was racing when you caught sight of something on the road away from the city. You pulled on Buttercup’s reigns, slowing her down as your eyes focused on something you really hoped you didn’t see. But as you got closer, you knew it was exactly what you feared.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You grunted, getting Buttercup to stop just on the edge of the path next to another…very familiar horse.

You pat Roach's side before walking a bit further into the woods. And just as you suspected, there a small camp with Geralt and Jaskier sitting around a fire. You were almost amused at their presence — they hadn’t even bothered to hide, being just off the path.  But your frustration slid the smirk from your lips, replacing it with a scowl.

“I told you not to follow me.” Your voice startled the men — and by men, it was mostly Jaskier. He jumped from his spot on the ground, only to give a relieved smile at the sight of you.

You kept your scowl firm as he made his way over to you. “Oh, my. Y/N, how funny it is to see you here! Geralt and I were just on…a stroll. A very, very, very long stroll. Towards the same place you happened to be. What a funny coincidence, hm?”

You blinked. “Hilarious.”

You glared at Geralt as he walked past you two and back to the horses, before turning back to Jaskier. The bard tilted his head, placing a hand on your shoulder with a sigh.

“Come on, we let you go in alone. I just wanted to make sure you got out alone too.” Noticing your glare soften — only slightly — he brought his arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the horses, where Geralt was patting Roach's side. “We couldn’t let you take this wondrous, self-discovering journey alone, could we Geralt?”

Your furious glare made Geralt sigh, finally turning to look you in the eye. “He wouldn’t stop talking”

“Then you should’ve knocked him out.”

Jaskier squeezed your shoulder. “And he is standing right here, love.”

You would’ve swooned at the new nickname if not for the anger in your chest. But just like it always happened with Jaskier, once you looked into his eyes, your shoulders dropped.

“We need to find a place to stay for the night. We have…a bit of a journey ahead of us.” 

Jaskier clapped his hands together and helped himself up to Buttercup with an all too-bright smile. “Ah, just like old times, huh?”

Both you and Geralt rolled your eyes, simultaneously barking out a, “Shut up.”

———————————————————————————————————

And so another journey begins! Let me know your thoughts :)

[jaskierswolf]

Congratulations on your new follower milestone!! You DESERVE them ALL! ✨ For the song prompts, could I request Dandelion x Priscilla + And I love her by The Beatles, please? Thanks so much!! 😘💕

Thank you my darling!! Can I just say you have chosen my favourite band outside of TAD. Well done!! Also, I’m not saying that Dandelion is Paul McCartney... except that is EXACTLY what I am saying. ____________________

Dandelion adjusted his hat before strutting out onto the small stage he’d had built in the Chameleon. Normally he preferred to let other performers take the stage in his cabaret but tonight was different. Tonight, Priscilla would be performing. He glanced back behind the curtain where she was waiting with his precious elven lute in her hands. She still struggled to talk, let alone sing, after the attack on the streets of Novigrad so her opening performance at the Chameleon would be a duet.

Their first duet.

He relished in the romanticism of it all. The wounded maiden made whole again by her lover’s song. He could’t have written it any better himself. Well, he probably could have and he probably would. Once Priscilla had her voice back he was immortalise the entire saga on the page, in a beautiful melody composed especially for her divine vocal talents. Until then, he was her voice and she was his lute. Well, not his lute. That wasn’t exactly the most flattering of images and she would probably make him eat his hat if she knew he’d even thought it. He would have to come up with something better but these things took time. For now, he would focus on their performance.

“Beloved audience!” He announced with a flourish, delighting in the way his bright silk clothing sparkled in the light of the candles. “Thank you so much for joining me tonight at the Chameleon!”

There was a cheer and a thunder of hands banging on the tables.

“Get on with it!” Zolton cried from behind the bar.

“All in good time, my friend!” Dandelion winked at the dwarf and then gestured widely to his audience. “Now, as you all may know. I am the owner of this fine establishment, but tonight I will be regaling you with a performance of my own!”

Another cheer from the audience.

“But I couldn’t do it alone. Oh no, for you see I appear to have lost my lute!” He cried in mock despair.

“Lost his marbles, more likely.” Zolton grumbled from the bar as he cleaned the glasses with a cloth.

Dandelion shot the dwarf a sharp glare this time but didn’t rise to the bait. “Luckily!” He continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “The beautiful Callonetta is here to help. We simply cannot have a cabaret without music, after all! Please, raise your glasses and welcome my darling, Callonetta to the stage!”

The audience roared and Priscilla stepped out. She was clutching his lute in her hands and, for the first time since he’d known her, she looked to be nervous about performing. One hand reached up to the red scarf around her neck, a present he’d bought her to cover up the scarring.

“Are you ready?” He asked, feeling a rush of adrenaline flow through his veins. He couldn’t help the toothy smile on his face. It had been ages since he’d performed like this. More recently his performances had been more of a private matter whilst he focussed on Priscilla’s recovery.

She nodded with a gentle smile before she turned to face the audience, fingers on lute strings. She played the opening notes, capturing the audience under her spell, before Dandelion took a deep breath and began to sing.

It was a quiet sort of song, probably out of place in the Chameleon but he had absolutely insisted that their first duet would be one of love. She’d laughed at him and called him a sentimental idiot. He had to agree but how could he be anything else when she kissed him so sweetly. He would play the fool forever more as long as he was allowed to keep kissing her.

But alas, he was a poet and part of the performance was to seduce his audience, not his love. So he winked and flirted his way through the performance, kissing one lucky lady’s hand during a break in his melody. He enjoyed it. He may feel guilty about it later but he enjoyed having the opportunity to flash a smile and a wink at his gorgeous audience.

There was one line that he knew would be Priscilla’s so at the start of the stanza he twirled around on his heels to face her. He almost stammered over his words as he caught her eyes. They were more gorgeous than anything he’d ever seen, shining blue sapphires framed by radiant blonde locks. To all the gods he loved her, he loved her more than he ever had before.

“A love like ours Could never die”

He cooed softly, brushing his fingers along her cheek bone and delighting in the blush that bloomed on her pale skin.

“As long as I Have you near me.”

He winked at her and turned back to the audience for the rest of the song. They clapped and whistled loudly as the song drew to a close.

“Dandelion.” Priscilla whispered as the bowed together, hand in hand. “That wasn’t what we rehearsed!”

Dandelion just smirked. “Was it not, my love?” He winked and kissed her hand. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re a fool, Dandelion.” She laughed as they bowed for a final time.

“A fool on the hill.” He murmured as a wave of inspiration hit him. “I should write that down.”

[monimolimnion]

20 first lines tag

tagged by my beloved writing buddy @clarionglass thanks bb!!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 other authors!

1. yarrow (unreleased) uh oh spoilers this is an unreleased franmaya fic from just this week. writing is going well, so it should be up Soon™

“Maya Fey is dreaming.”

2. look through you post-AAI1 fic i wrote last month!

“It’s way, way too late, and all is quiet.”

3. Kindred the big kahuna. My longform fic about Miles Edgeworth adopting a dog and all the shenengains therein (also narumitsu). I swear I’m coming back to you Pess... soon... T-T

“Phoenix. I’ve adopted a dog.”

4. sandglass (handle with care) a narumitsu fic where i burdened miles edgeworth with all my touch-starvation

“2:49 A.M. Miles knows the time precisely because he is awake, unfortunately, and staring at the alarm clock, situated just so on the bedside table because Phoenix still refuses to purchase a phone made in this century with a working alarm system.”

(i know that’s two lines sue me)

5. Miles Away baby’s first AA fic! i’m still so very fond of this one

“Phoenix can’t sleep.”

6. Tales of Dŵrwedd It’s a novel, baybee! This here is the book I wrote about my Witcher OC, Wynne, and how she met her later girlfriend Aurelie. 66k words. Writing this baby got me through quarantine and then some

“Ah, Novigrad. Sunset has the city all in silhouette, vivid orange and pink throwing the city into dramatic shadows, as I cluck to the grey mare beneath me and we pass underneath Oxenfurt Gate, turning north towards Temple Isle.”

7. Featherlight long-abandoned game grumps orchestra!AU

“When people complimented the beauty of a musician, it was always about their grace and poise, how they made something infinitely complex look as effortless and serene as a swan ghosting across water.”

8. Go Slow the first and last time i ever wrote smut. 

“It all started the day Arin broke the internet.”

9. hit me with your rhythm stick just a GG drabble because i liked the song

“It’s Between Grumps, and they’ve eaten just slightly more sugar than is healthy. “

10. Stay another GG drabble

“It’s the shaking he notices first.”

11. Undertow first fic I ever published! GG soulmate AU

“Sometimes he catches himself admiring the way the tattoos intermingle on her shoulder, the mandala fading as it curves around the the familiar little pattern of bubbles that hide in the crook of her scarab's wing.”

That’s it for fic stuff. How about we do first lines of games I’ve released next?

12. When Aster Falls rohan and aster my beloveds

"Listen, you’re never going to believe any of this, but hear me out, okay?"

13. Were|House we released this last year for Halloween!! ft a stellar crew of amazing peeps including @clarionglass who tagged me in this in the first place lol

"I bet Halloween this year is gonna suck."

14. DemiDato: Monster Dating Show (Demo) Full game isn’t out yet, and was also co-written with two amazing friends anyway, so here’s the first line of the demo instead. leaving in the funky renpy code for authenticity

"Are we live? {w} We’re live? {w} Okay!"

Okay I’m out of stuff without going back into old roleplay and nobody needs to see that (remember circus!AU, clari?). I don’t really have a lot of WIPs because of How My Brain Is (and those that actually are abandoned are mostly brainstorming only).

Any patterns? I used to struggle a LOT with coming up with good first lines, and I notice as I’ve gotten older I’ve leaned hard into short, snappy, very in-media-res-y openings, instead of longer sentences. That, or dialogue, which works the same. Do I like it? Dunno, honestly, but that’s where I’m at.

Picking yarrow as my favourite opener even though it’s tied-shortest because it’s the newest shiniest baby, and the scene it leads into is killer and i’m very proud of it

Tags! gonna tag @pringlesaremydivision, all the discord gremlins who i know actually write things @spaghettiandpeas @daddywright @rainphee (and all the other gremlins if they want)

aand anyone else who sees this consider yourself tagged by me, if you want!

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Oxenfurt Wonders | Geralt x Reader

Summary: The former stablehand and Geralt, along with their horses Immi and Roach, visit Oxenfurt. This is technically Part 2 of Talking to Horses, but can be read as a stand-alone one shot.

Word Count: 1,902

Warnings: None.

A/N: After last night’s super dark story, I figured it was time for some of the fluffiest fluff. Hope you enjoy!

If you enjoy my work and want to check out more of it, you can check out my masterlist, and if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, comment or message me and I would be happy to add you 😊. Also, I do have a ko-fi page now, and I would really appreciate if anyone is able to give a little; it would really help me out with this whole career change dream & the whole not working and not getting paid amid this disaster thing. But of course, the best way y’all support me is just by reading and sharing my work. I appreciate it more than I can say.

                                                      ***

“Immi!” You scold your speckled mare, who took it upon herself to nudge you—hard—in the shoulder, expecting a treat. Of course, even as you scold her, your hand is reaching into your pack, pulling out a brilliantly red apple you purchased from one of the stalls in Novigrad, the first city you’d visited upon leaving your small village. The mare happily plucks the apple from your fingers and devours the whole thing in three bites, core and all.

“You’ve really got to stop encouraging her,” Geralt drawls as he leisurely brushes his own dark brown mare, Roach.

You narrow your eyes at him, “Oh, please,” you respond in a drawl of your own, “You treat that horse like a princess.”

Geralt gives you one of his sideways grins, muttering a soft hmm of acknowledgment that he’s been beaten. You smile smugly as you reach up to scratch Immi’s velvet-soft head.

It is difficult to wrap your mind around the fact that you’ve been traveling with him for nearly a month, helping with various monster contracts as you go. Though, as he told you several times, it is rare that a real monster is actually the culprit for the things you are sent to investigate.

First, there had been the old haunted house—which he had correctly guessed was not, in fact, haunted. Instead, there was a harmless squatter residing in the sizable mansion’s many unused rooms. Next, there’d been a supposed beast stalking merchant carts out near a crossroads which, naturally, was not a beast at all. You hung back as Geralt had instructed and watched him take out an entire camp of bandits who had been making easy pickings of the merchant carts that passed through.

The only real monster you’d encountered this whole time was actually a whole group of monsters. Several necrophages had made the site of an old battlefield their new home—two whole nests of Nekkers had been drawn to the death-stench of the field. It was then that you’d showed off your considerable skills at climbing trees, waiting up in the branches while Geralt cut down the necrophages one after the other, until you were able to slink down and throw the special Witchers’ bomb into the next, watching it erupt in flame.

Every adventure was more exciting than the last, it seemed to you. But the adventure you were on now was the most exciting of them all so far—a trip to Oxenfurt. You’d never seen the city, and Geralt promised you that you would love it. He’d said it with such warmth in his eyes, your heart had stopped for a minute.

“How far now?” You asked impatiently, as you pulled a small brown bag full of food you’d picked up at the last market. You took a bite out of a biscuit—dry and flavorless, but apparently full of all of the nutrients you needed. Geralt had slipped a couple extra into your bag after you’d decided to spend more money on apples and carrots for Immi.

“Wouldn’t want you starving,” he’d said.

Geralt tipped his head back slightly, laughing that deep and rumbling laugh that still made your knees go all wobbly, “How far?” He repeated your words  exactly the way you’d said them, earning a small hmph of disapproval from you.

“Oh, relax,” the Witcher says, tucking the brush he’d been using back into the saddlebags and crossing over to you in a few quick steps.

He passes Immi first, who aggressively nuzzles her snout into his neck. He smiles softly, patting the mare on the side of her neck, before taking the one more step that has him standing right beside you. Suddenly, you are all too aware of the hard travel biscuit you’re still eating, swallowing quickly for not wanting to wolf the thing down right in his ear.

Your breath catches in your throat as he places his fingers gently underneath your chin, tipping your lowered head up towards his own, gazing into your eyes with that liquid-gold stare that leaves you speechless.

“Such an impatient girl.” The way he says it, though, bares no hint of annoyance or anger. Instead, there’s some sort of warmth there—maybe even adoration.

Or, I could be making it all up, you chide yourself.

But his eyes hold yours for another moment; one of those frozen in time moments, where the rest of the world seems to slow down and slip away, leaving only the two of you—his fingers under your chin, his eyes fixed on yours. The nearly imperceptible shift of his eyes toward your mouth and then back to your eyes again, as if he’s done something wrong.

Your eyes flick to his lips, wishing one million times over that you could just stand up on your toes and kiss them. They look full and soft, and the smell of him is so intoxicating that you just want to drink it in, to taste it.

But then he removes his fingers, as if he’s burned them, and you take in involuntary step back. The moment fades away and the rest of the world comes back into focus again. The horses, the road, the quick lunch, and the sun just starting it’s descent from its noon high. Traveling, right. You are supposed to be traveling.

“We’ll be there by tomorrow morning, if we make it far enough before nightfall.

***

That night, you lie awake, listening to Geralt’s steady breathing only a few feet away from you. Your heart hammers in your chest as you think about those few moments today where you thought that he might do it, might kiss you. And then, as per usual, your mind careens off-course as you wonder why he didn’t—spinning with all of the reasons you must not be good enough for him.

***

“This is…” you trail off, eyes drinking in all of the city around you, “It’s beautiful.”

You’ve only just entered through the city gates, and already it is so different from any place you’ve ever been. Of course, Novigrad was a bigger city, and the two of you had already been there, but that city had some sort of feeling that just was not quite right. All of the poor in the streets; the way people were after anyone who might be a witch—or rather, might be something or someone other than them. But Oxenfurt… Oxenfurt is very different. Full of color and the tantalizing smell of food, full of students rushing about with large books under their shoulders or satchels full of medical supplies. This place seemed like the type of place where anything might be possible.

You can’t help but repeat, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

You are too busy staring at the hustle and bustle of the city around you to look at Geralt, who is too busy staring at the girl holding loosely to the reins of her beloved horse to be looking at the city around him, “Yes, so beautiful.”

***

Once Immi and Roach are comfortably set up in the stable of the inn that Geralt had told you about, you head off into the city. And, as you walk from the market to the university, you can’t help but notice Geralt slowly moving closer and closer to you, until you are so close that you keep bumping into each other. Each time, you swear it feels like he draws out the contact just a little more, and your heart flutters.

He laughs when your eyes go wide at the sight of a merchant spinning candy floss. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder and tip your head up and back towards the white haired Witcher, scrunching your face in mock irritation. “What? I’ve never seen it before!”

There were no merchants spinning sugar into clouds, even on the big market days in your old little village. You have to try it.

But, as you step forward, Geralt steps forward faster, ordering two sticks of the fluffy, colored candy floss and drops two coins on the merchant’s counter. He hands one to you and keeps one for himself, pulling off some of the candy and popping it into his mouth.

Now, it’s your turn to laugh at the sight of a Witcher in full gear and carrying two swords on his back eating spun sugar. But you don’t really have time to make fun of him, because you are also probably a strange sight—a grown woman, mystified by things that the people here have seen all of their lives. And, you are too curious to try it.

You pluck off a rather large piece and put it in your mouth, smiling as it melts on your tongue. It tastes even better than you’d imagined. The two of you walk away from the stall and towards a small park overlooking the campus.

Before you can make it to the empty bench you are headed for, however, a student, nose buried in a book, runs smack into Geralt’s side and making him lose his balance. Instinctively, you reach out a hand to steady him, gripping his elbow. He doesn’t fall, but he does drop the remainder of his cotton candy on the ground.

“Damn,” he mutters with a small chuckle as you sit down on the bench.

You laugh, chewing on your lower lip as you look from the last of your own candy floss to Geralt’s lips, and then back again. Quickly, before you can change your mind, you rip the last piece from the stick and toss it away into a nearby bin, holding up the remaining little puff of candy to Geralt, “Here. I’m full, anyway.”

Now it is Geralt who chews on his lower lip for a moment, staring at your hand, then your face, then your hand again. You expected him to pluck it from your fingers with his own, but instead, he slowly tilts his head towards you, bringing his lips to the last bite. Your heart speeds up impossibly as his eyes flick to your own, a spark flickering through them as he closes his lips gently around your thumb—your eyes quite literally flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over the pad of your thumb.

How damn often have you thought of his tongue? Too many times.

When your eyes flicker back open again, his face is mere inches from yours, a devilish grin on those full lips. When he catches you looking, he moves in closer, so that all you have to do is tilt your chip up and…

He presses his lips to yours, and you feel like a dam has erupted in your chest. You’d thought about this moment for so long, imagined what kissing him would feel like, taste like. It feels even better than you imagined it would, and tastes like sugar and woodsmoke and cedar. Your senses all pool into one as you let your mouth fall open.

His hand cups the side of your face as his tongue explores your mouth, drawing a soft, satisfied sigh from you. You can feel him smile into the kiss as your hand comes to rest on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin even through his many layers of clothing—that warmth, and the steady heartbeat that feels even better than seeing the whole world.              

Taglitst: @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @haru-ririchiyo @unnamedmaincharacter @lazilyscentedwerewolf  @valkyriepuff     @comicbeginning @angelias134 @morgannope @royallylazy @alyxkbrl @curlyhairedandconfused  @nikolanna @divineslipcast​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @seninjakitey​ @boogeywoogeywoogeywoogeywoogey​ @superconfusedandreadytorumble​ @keithseabrook27​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @sinnamon-bunn​  @sallyp-53​ @superconfusedandreadytorumble​            

[toussainttwins]

I heard you were at the chateau of the late count Roderick during the festival of wine? Did you enjoyed it?

Natanis’ eyes light up. “Ah, dear anonymous! It is not the night one forgets easily. That masquerade - which was called the wine festival to dodge the ducal prohibition of any entertainments during the attacks of the Beast. One can not cancel a wine festival, not even our beloved Royal Sangbonbon, for wine is sacred in Toussaint -  was enchanting. A glittering, shimmering pool of light and merriment during the grim times of chocking & dull dread.”  Ashamed to say, Natanis escaped the starving confinement and went there without Nistana, despite her own pleas towards her lambkin to stay safe. The petite succubus did not know that it was but a flame, and she was a moth. “There were riddles and dances and flirting and, ah...many exquisite costumes and disguises!” the horned coquette shuts her eyes and sighs, awaking the taste of the kiss and the intricate tapestry of seduction. It lingers inside her memory still, engraved and laced with a shocked awe of the crowd. The masks were many, smart and lavish. But it were not only costumes that served as a cover for one’s personality and intentions. “It was one of the most adventurous night I have ever had! For you see, no one has ever tried to poison and slay me before. Both in one night! It was just like in a play we saw in Novigrad! I was rather concerned, as you can imagine. But at the same time I longed, positively longed to tell my lambkin of a sister all about it. The thought of my dear Nissa - how sated by such a story she would be - made me less afraid and helped me to gather my wits together. I did not want to die, and when one tries to kill you the taste is awful. In the end it is very hard to deny a beautiful sangbonbon, especially with such a captivating shade of raven-like locks and quite a measure of determination. But...as you can see, we could reach a conclusion that pleased us both. Very rather much,” the blonde succubus laughs silverly. For what is death when it is has passed you by, its touch but a tender tickle of the wing and not an iron grip? For the succubus sister it is but another story to enjoy, its consequences dulled and polished into soft harmless angles by familiarity and visible, predefined “happily ever after”.  

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

... Of the Destiny and the Stars (Geralt x reader, Part 5.1)

CHAPTER STATUS: REVISITED AND REVISIONED - While revisioning and going through it, I realized the scenes I'd like to fit in are much longer than anticipated, so I decided to split the part in two.

Description: Geralt of Rivia, also known as the infamous Butcher of Blaviken or the White Wolf, was traveling the Continent along with idiotic, yet humble and kind bard Jaskier, settling in a small town near the free city of Novigrad. That was when Geralt bumped into an old friend of his - and realized that all the wrongdoings he had committed in the past would eventually return to him.

Summary: The only thing everyone on the Continent wholeheartedly agreed on was that... Destiny was a bitch. You knew it, Geralt knew it and even Yennefer was aware. And even through realizing all of this, Geralt was willing to take the risk of defying it, as well as the horrible consequences coming to him, just so you'd stay by his side. While discovering and deepening your bond, you have a few interesting discoveries about yourself.

Warnings:

➡ Our homie queen Calanthé is making a guest appearance along with her beloved husband Eist. Triss, Philippa, Radovid, and Foltest are name-dropped and Djistra and his handsome face are here. Radovid's character is inspired by the games, however; it's not Jaskier's love interest from the show, but the insane kind of Redania (the timeline's fucked anyway lmao). ➡ Mentions of in-world politics, famine, death, mature themes, and dying children (due to pneumonia). ➡ Mentions of sexual acts and practices, mature language. ➡ A lot of fluff for our favorite grumpy old man (hate to break it to you, but Geralt is like... 80 years old). 🩵 ➡ Jaskier and the reader hit it off, in a sense, a subtle reference to the relationship between Geralt and Jaskier (wink, wink, we stan a bi-con). ➡ We are also having a little bisexual and poly situation rocking up - so if you're not into this, just don't read this. ➡ I'll be alluding to a lighter form of philophobia, aka the fear of love.

A/N: Jaskier's song is 100% Sriracha by Bbno$ and no one is changing my mind on that.

Announcement regarding the timeline:

This isn't your regular story chapter - it's more of a collection of events and memories that unravel through the years. It would be wiser to split it up so it would make sense, but then, I wouldn't have enough content to create interesting story chapters. I pushed through and created two chapters (30-40K words in total) that cover this time period. Sadly, I don't even know when the part takes place because everything is so difficult to map out with the show completely altering the canon. I mean, the books already made it difficult but now, it's fucking impossible, and since the story is a combination of both the book events and show events, as well as a combination of all the characters' traits from both, I just said 'fuck it' and balled. It's sometime before Nilfgaardians attack the kingdom of Sodden and Cintra and Cirilla are still under Calanthé's protection, but Geralt and Yennefer have already fallen in love and she also already left him behind in 'The Shard of Ice'. I'd say it's a bit before the shenanigans in Cintra go down - pinpointing it in the horizon of Cirilla's age, it should be happening when she's around 5 - 11 years of age?

I'm so confused, man, Lauren singlehandedly short-circuited and fried my fucking brain.

Word count: 16K

Tagging: @soleil-dor​, @axk111​, @nemesisplayboy​, @american-duchess

Master list: H E R E | The Witcher playlist: H E R E

The witch's house in the middle of nowhere - the lonely fairytale-like log cabin smelling of mint, honey, and jasmine occupied by a lonely, nice 'witch', according to the folk. She wasn't remotely close to being one, but who was to argue? The door to her modest home was kept three inches open under any circumstance. Didn't really matter who wandered inside, the witch always made sure to give them the utmost warm welcome. Sometimes, wandering travelers, bards, or adventurers knocked on the ajar door, asking for a place to stay, a glass of wine, and a warm dish in exchange for a few stories or items unattainable on the outskirts of Novigrad. Other times, the good folk of nearby villages asked for her advice and medical attention. Once in a blue moon, even one of the most infamous bards known under the name Jaskier stood on her doorstep. The one she was expecting, however, made sure to always come back.

He dear wasn't no ordinary man, oh no. It was a man surrounded by mythical tales and rumors. He'd been known under many names throughout his existence - The White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, Gwynbleidd, or the White One.

For you and with you, he was simply Geralt. He had stumbled upon your cabin many times, searching for it in times of loneliness and need. After a bit, you couldn't even call these instances coincidences anymore. It wasn't the Stars bringing you together, it wasn't Destiny threading his path and leading his steps... Geralt was coming back on his own accord, based on his own decisions. Each time you'd hear the familiar gait grazing the dirt road leading to your doorstep, you'd put everything down just to peek out of the window to ensure you're not making things up. Each time you'd see the white-haired man, your body would become uncontrollable as your brain blanked and heart fluttered and before you knew it, you took off to run to Geralt with the brightest smile decorating your face. The moment he'd return the smile (not even attempting to contain the contagious joy and happiness you provided), you'd ensure to erase it with a kiss, taking his belongings off his hands and tugging him inside the cabin the fastest you could. Geralt would never oppose your actions, he'd never object because he was longing for the same emotion you were. Your enthusiasm often tended to ease his own mood, mainly when he stopped after dealing with Dijsktra or goofing up a contract. Your giggling was heavenly to his ears, the sound of your laughter didn't once fail to fill his chest with serenity and warmth. The more Geralt made you laugh, the better he felt.

At the start of your affair, you found it difficult to keep your hands to yourselves - usually, neither of you remained clothed for too long. Only when you sat in your bed intertwined, body and skin pressed against each other as you whispered sweet nothings and stole hasty kisses, was the moment Geralt truly came home. It wasn't so much about the sex itself (not that either of you could complain about the quality of it) - it was the vulnerability and closeness this simple act provided. That did it for the Witcher. In those moments, Geralt not only felt human, happy, and enamored, he finally felt... Home. In those moments, Geralt didn't have to use his words or actions to let you look under the wraps and guess how he felt, there were no social cues he'd have to honor or dull and tedious social dances he'd have to be a part of. It was as simple as holding you in his arms, listening to your fluttering heart, and feeling the gentle tremor on your fingers. You'd giggle breathlessly before kidding him, letting all his thoughts disappear.

No matter how selfish the situation was, Geralt was unwilling to deprive himself of these moments. This led the duo to prolong his stay in Novigrad for longer than anticipated. Jaskier surely wouldn't be caught complaining about staying in the city (as he said - beer, breasts, and banquets) and because it was painfully obvious why are they staying for so long, the bard didn't even have to pry why is Geralt (of all people) willing to stay in the city even though he passionately hated people and their problems concentrated in one place. If Jaskier would have to describe Geralt's stance on big cities, he'd simply say Geralt's one of those who ~is aligned to be one with nature~ and all that other crap.

The first time Geralt would come back to your cabin was a week after everything went down - a few weeks ago, you'd reconnected after 20 long years, spent a whole night saving a striga, he'd apologized for his behavior way back in Cintra and fucked you senseless right after. On his way to your cabin that night, Geralt got worried - what if it'd be awkward? What if the two of you would have trouble starting a conversation? What if... The anxiety disappeared when Geralt saw you doing your laundry in the booking right beside your cabin - dressed in a simple outfit, you were doing your best to carefully wash some linen shirts. When satisfied with the result, you immediately hang the wet clothes over your humble garden filled with herbs and homegrown vegetables. It took Geralt a moment to gather his shit back together and to continue on his way, prompting Roach to ride into your field of vision - taking a moment to watch you performing simple daily chores and mundane activities made it so easy to imagine how things could be.

The two of you would probably grow up alongside one another, brought up in the same village, never leaving outside the boundaries of your region or exploring the Continent. Your universes would be incredibly smaller and emptier, but also much easier to navigate and orient in. He'd fall in love you desperately and court you until your father would agree with your marriage. To ensure you'd be happy, Geralt would find himself a stable, good job - lumberjacking seemed to allure Geralt the most. You'd have the freedom to do as you'd please; you could be a seemstress or a herbalist, anything you'd seem fit. He wouldn't mind. If anything, it would make him sure in his shoes, having a smart and independent woman by his side. The two of you wouldn't be rich, but you wouldn't be in need either; you'd have just enough to live a fulfilling life. In his dreams, you'd lead a simple life away from the big cities, but settle down in one's vicinity - it would be convenient for commuting to the city to buy supplies and food. That way, Geralt wouldn't have to deal with solving people's problems while reaping the benefits cities brought.

Each time Geralt would come home from the woods, he'd most likely come to this view - you'd be doing the laundry, cleaning the house, organizing your herbs, talk to your friend who'd come over for a visit or taking care of your humble livestock. For some reason, Geralt liked to imagine you'd be fond of owning a goat or perhaps a few hens. After taking care of the essentials, you'd sit in front of the fireplace, resting after a long laborious day. Watching you knit for a bit, his ankle would bump to yours, smoothing its way up your calf as you'd send him one of those lusty, sensual smiles. Over time, it wouldn't be only you waiting for him back home - in one of his recent dreams, there were downright three little, restless devils. First and oldest, there was a girl; her facial features were identical to yours, but her face was framed with locks of brown hair, which she'd get after him. This alone would surely make her the prettiest girl in the village, so the two of you would have to fend off endless courting attempts until the right time and person comes. The other two kids in his dreams were boys, too rowdy to be held in one place, a bit mischievous yet surely growing out to be good men overall. Your home would be filled with everything that comes with building a family - there would be laughter, tears, screaming, long lectures about important life lessons, loving embraces, goodnight kisses, torn clothes, and bumped knees.This is how things could be... If you weren't what you've turned out to be.

Starting with your high age (even though the infused chaos slowed your aging down considerably), to your consistent volatility and a considerable amount of promiscuity (even taking into account Geralt's 'It's complicated with Yenna'), ending with the shared factor of infertility, this simple life was unachievable. Those dreams were never to be fulfilled, but beautiful nonetheless. Watching you doing the chores, however, was making it a bit more believable if Geralt had to be honest. He was sure that in due time, he'd let you take a look at the dreams - after being by your side for only a week, however, Geralt concluded it wouldn't be the wisest to spill the beans. The anxiety of being sent away or the meeting being awkward left him as soon as you stood up, furrowing in the distance to determine who the newcomer was. The moment you waved at him, Geralt knew everything would be alright. The two of you would figure things out together.

After the first night he'd returned, Geralt started seeking your presence every two to three days, staying in your cabin for as long as he could. As expected, this whole treasure-seeking endeavor turned out to be rather pricey - the cost was bumped mainly by their place of stay being none other than Rosemary and Thyme. Since you were the main reason for Geralt hanging around for as long as he had, you announced that you'd pay for their expenses. This caused a series of debates and arguments, to be honest. The men accepted your sponsorship very reluctantly. Jaskier wasn't making too much fuss around it - the bard enjoyed being maintained, kept in luxury like the cream of society he envisioned himself to be, not complaining about anything. Geralt was the one to stir up the waves, actually. It took you endless evenings of sex, arguments, bargaining, and negotiations to make Geralt believe you were, indeed, loaded. A full-on two-month stay at the most expansive inn in the city? You were fully capable of spending the same amount on a shopping spree, it just was change for you. All the money you saved in the bank of Novigrad was past courtesy of Emhyr Var Emreis himself - he paid you a ridiculous sum of Orens for your position, enough to feed a village for a lifetime. In the end, you remained victorious. Geralt accepted the money, sighing and giving you the look.

By the time the summer rolled around, the two had to move on. Dealing with the lifestyle of living in Novigrad was taking a considerable toll on Geralt's mental - not only did he have to deal with Jaskier's constant yapping and romantic endeavors (as well as with their often messy results), but the folk of Novigrad was also starting to get volatile too. On top of that, Dijkstra caught onto Geralt's track and attempted to contact him with the promise of cooperation. Yes. As if. He explained that the contract that kept them around had been solved, and Novigrad didn't have more monsters to be caught. No contracts posted, no nightmares to be silenced, no job propositions for the Witcher - Geralt ran out of excuses to remain in your vicinity.

When mentioning the contract, Geralt also explained that per usual, the contract turned out to be a fluke - the pair of adventurers left the city with much less gold than originally promised because the gold indeed turned out to be courtesy of the Leprechauns. This meant that as soon as the bandits died, the hordes of gold disappeared. That's the life of a Witcher for you, Geralt laughed while explaining. As per usual, Julian hoped to end up loaded at the end of their adventure just to get a load of bullshit in return. Well, at least the two had all the fun and the memories to hold on to, right? ... Right? No gold to be had, the payment was much less than promised and both the bard and the Witcher were treated as clowns. The fun and the memories, Julian mumbled on repeat, the fun and the memories.

The day of their departure fell on the morning after Saint John's Eve. Surely, more nights were to await you, but it will take a long time before Geralt finds his way back to you after he leaves Novigrad the following morning. You both understood what his departure meant - there was no reason to dwell on the topic. It could be weeks, months, or years until he'll kiss you again, until you ghost over his cheek with trembling fingers, whispering sweet nothings in the Elder. Notably, this Saint John's Eve was one of the quietest nights you've ever spent in each other's presence. Every word and look had an underlying weight that neither of you wanted to take into account, each action and talk was enhanced with the prospect of a separation that can take any sort of time frame. The emotions felt more intense as if they would burn a hole in your chest if you'd faced them head-on. Therefore, everything was subdued and kept to a minimum, as if nothing was going to happen early in the morning. Geralt wouldn't leave on Roach's back and you wouldn't be commuting to Novigrad to meet Dijkstra in his bathhouse.

Realizing the incoming separation, Geralt made sure he was holding you in his arms no matter what. It was impractical as you tried to put something to eat together, but his clinginess made you laugh. Whenever he couldn't put his arms around you, he made sure he was hovering behind you, ghosting over each move you made. His nose would tangle in your hair so he could breathe in your scent, kissing his favorite spot on the nape of your neck whenever he had the opportunity. When the night finally came, both of you stood in front of the window and watched the dusk settling in. The woods were quiet and the waves of the lake were crashing into the shore, nicely lining up with crickets buzzing. Geralt's brain was sure to memorize everything as you stood in an opened window, letting the humid air caress both your bodies. A storm was coming.

Since you've just got out of bed (because you were adamant about his being the best view of the year), you were only lazily covered in a linen bedsheet. Geralt didn't even bother with putting on any clothes. Neither of you said a word as you watched the view slowly changing - the sun slowly setting down, the sky starting to glow with orange and pink, fireflies flying around in clusters, local folk throwing a celebration in the nearby village. Props to you, Geralt hadn't seen prettier scenery in a long time. "Come back to bed with me." - He whispered, his voice breaking with each word. It was a plea from a lover to a lover, the first sign of incoming departure. Geralt hummed as he kissed the sweet spot on your neck, feeling how soft and warm your skin was. - "Please." "I'll be there in a moment." - You promised, smoothing his arm loosely thrown around your shoulder. - "This is my favorite night of the year. No chance I'd miss my yearly tradition of staring out of the window instead of joining the folk in their celebrations." "I'll miss your warmth in the meantime, darling." - The Witcher hummed, smoothing the curve of your lovely bottom before he left you. All the various pet names still made you look at Geralt funny, leaving an amused grin on your lips. Both of you were having a troublesome time getting accustomed to Geralt using terms of endearment unironically. He likely wouldn't use any pet names by his own initiative, but upon discovering how undone you became in bed after calling you his dove, Geralt started to warm up to the idea. Notably, some pet names didn't land in the slightest, giving you a fit of laughter - he still had a long way to go, but you were getting somewhere.

The morn was bittersweet and saying goodbyes was hard. The chilly morning air was smoothing your body as you stood in the opened door, watching Geralt disappear in the distance on Roach's back. The crickets were still buzzing between the blades of grass, and morning dew was irrigating your small garden. The ground was soaked from yesterday's rainstorm. On that morning, you could feel your heart growing heavy in your chest. As you said, it was all fucking bittersweet. Before Geralt, the pure thought of being in love was unimaginable, horrifying even. While he showed you how beautiful resonating with another human could be, you had to swallow the pill of dealing with loneliness coming along with your lover's departure. You were passionate about your past lovers, and you even took a liking to a few of them back in the past... But letting go of the reigns was making your skin crawl. With Geralt, though, it felt like the right thing to do. So you trusted the process, remaining incredibly anxious about it. You noted asking Jaskier about dealing with being enamored the next time you meet him.

As expected, you wished Geralt the best of luck on his journey, praying to the Stars to see him safely return to your arms before kissing him for the last time. The man dried the tears rolling down your cheeks before drowning them in gentle pecks, begging you not to cry - seeing you miserable would make his heart grow heavy in his chest, ensuring his departure would torture him on his following journey. Trying to make it easier for the both of you, you did your best to take control of your emotions (Geralt was holding his in a tight fist of iron, not letting a sign of weakness seep through into his expression). Gathering your composure, you nodded and gently pushed him over the doorstep in jest. While you had his spare shirt on (Geralt brought you one just so you could wear it in case you'd miss him), your own spare shirt was tucked away, safely hidden in his leather bag like some precious cargo. You gave it to Geralt for the same reason - you knew that Geralt was able to smell your scent long after it was gone for everyone else, reminiscing of you when he'd play with the silky fabric. Just a piece of memorabilia, you thought when you exchanged the pieces of clothing. For Geralt, the shirt meant much more. It was a small reminder of your lonely log cabin hidden away, a reminder of the sense of home you found in each other. It was to serve as an anchor after he'd lost all his reason to Yenna.

Saying you were a damsel in distress during Geralt's absence, however, would be plainly wrong. Sure, being in a new situation, you took a few days to ponder about the right course of action - should you give into the drama, wearing only black until he comes back? Bollocks, you didn't have enough clothes to pull that off. Were you supposed to keep your hands to yourself, not having a lustful thought about anyone else? Yeah, as if - Geralt knew you well enough to not try to tie you down. Just as he'd be with Yenna, you could be with anyone you wished to - he ensured his mind would be with you the entire time, but he couldn't promise what course of action his body would take - he expected nothing less from you. Pushing on with your daily life came on top of your priorities - it eased your mind and let you deal with petty bullshit, ensuring you wouldn't be drowning yourself in tears over the man you loved.

Shortly after deciding not to be dramatic (much to Jaskier's dismay), you decided not to spend more time sitting on your doorstep, despairing for the one you love - quite the opposite, actually. While having the Butcher of Blaviken on your mind all the time, you simply continued on. First, you took Novigrad's gambling scene by storm. Bumping into Jaskier during his visit to Nobigrad one late summer night, he swayed you into enrolling in one of the most high-stakes tournaments in Passiflora (both of you were almost blackout drunk, holding hands and giggling like little kids when signing the enrollment form)... And to your surprise, you managed to win. It were the most satisfactory games of Gwent you've played in a long time, and there also were moments you thought you were fucked, but you kept your head in the game, ensuring a ridiculous sum of Orens to your name. You took some of the money to yourself, just out of politeness, ensuring the rest will fund the modernization of Novigrad's hospital - when comparing the quality of health care in Wyzima and Novigrad, it couldn't differ more. No wonder Temeria had more than three times less healthcare mortality rate, my oh my. The rest of the prize money was given towards buying new equipment for Novigrad's rather humble school and the mimics of 'schools' in nearby villages. It wasn't much, but the knowledge of making at least a bit of a difference warmed your soul.

After you were done with Gwent for a bit (realizing you weren't to find such opponents for some time) and watched Jaskier leave the city in good health, you concentrated on cooperation with Dijsktra and his other ratty friends. As much as you couldn't trust the guy an inch, you found common ground and soon enough, you were considered allies of sorts. The spy invited you to accompany him to various public events as his plus-one and guest of honor, taking you out to royal balls and celebrations to introduce you to the political leaders of neighboring kingdoms. This didn't mean you'd be introduced to the kings specifically - you spent more time with their counselors and counseling witches. To be frank, the counselors tended to be more fun anyway. Nilfgaardian forces were close to being unstoppable, especially with allowing their mages to use all sorts of magic forbidden by the council... But the Northern Realms consisted of vast kingdoms and landmasses - the mass of land was practically impossible to contest on foot and maneuvering and strategizing was therefore very difficult (via army battalions and war machines, that was). Until the moment Cintra, Sodden, and Temeria hadn't fallen in flames, there were still choices to be made and hope of defeating them.

To your luck, King Foltest, while undoubtedly being a sister-fucker (that's what Geralt told you), was also wise enough to listen to both you and the council - you spent a considerable amount of with Triss Merigold, his consoling witch. Queen Calanthé and her husband, Eist Tuirseach of Skellige, were a tougher nut to crack - thanks to Mousesack's (Calanthé's good friend and advisor) calming presence, the four of you were able to come to a pact. You were sure that Calanthé would love to see you dead, just like the bigger half of the council. It was when she started inviting you to her infamous Cintran balls and celebrations, having you seated at her table while complaining about men in general and not having the opportunity of meeting you sooner (because you slipped up and mentioned you were supposed to be part of Pavetta's ball), you decided it was quite the opposite. The two of you found unlikely friendship in one another, exchanging letters and small, meaningless gifts. That's a good sign, Dijkstra assumed after you informed him of your ongoing correspondence, surely, it's strengthening the alliance.

To even more relief, the councils (both the witches and the spies simultaneously) decided that sending you back to Nilfgaard just so you could woo Emhyr Var Emris under your spell would be more or less reasonlessly suicidal, illogical, and extremely time-consuming. Don't take it the wrong way, many of those people hated you. They wanted you dead, but your mind-reading and mind-altering abilities were more valuable than just having you headless on a whim. The council didn't even force you to participate in negotiations with the Black Ones - the risk of Emhyr realizing it was you pulling the strings, revealing the inner workings and power schemes of Nilfgaard to the others was too great. Your consulting was highly appreciated by the Northern Realms but also paid handsomely, so you had nothing to complain about. Even though you didn't admit it, it felt good to be back, meddling with politics. They sure as hell didn't get more fun, but for the first time in a long time, you were a highly regarded member of political scheming and affairs, oftentimes balancing the fragile alliances between various kingdoms on the tips of your fingers (and yes, there were moments when it came to using Axii too). You weren't just that lonely puny priestess living in that cabin in the woods anymore, you had the power to make people's lives better and on top of that, save them. There were instances when the spy syndicate took you for travels around Redania, having you complete odd jobs and negotiations with the mad king Radovid himself. You've been one of the few who came back to Novigrad alive.

Rumor had it that Dijskra himself admitted that you were one of the best strategists and most valuable sources of help they could have, mainly due to your extensive knowledge. Whether Dijkstra said it or not and if he was sober when making the admission was up for debate, but he never complimented you directly.

While being busy with all these politics, there still were nights when missing Geralt got harder than ever. Sometimes, you'd listen to Jaskier talking about their recent meeting - that was when you bumped into the bard in Oxenfurt and as per usual, decided it would be much more fun to spend the night getting hammered in his presence than whatever other shit you were doing. Once, Calanthé brought him up - you've been watching the court dancing, the night was deep and the drinks were plenty when the talk came to the Law of Surprise. The queen was tipping on the line of being blackout drunk by that point, telling you about Pavetta, Duny, and how it all came to be - that was when she dropped the bomb on you. Ensuring no uncalled ears were in the radius, she drunkenly admitted that Geralt claimed Ciri in such a law. Calanté realized the Witcher did it out of the ridiculousness of it all, for shits and giggles as she eloquently he put it - what none of them was expecting, however, was Pavetta being with a child. Rest assured, Calanthé hated Geralt's guts. You had a hard time computing the information before accepting that Geralt is a deadbeat godfather to the poor, little blonde girl running around the table. Other times, it was the small details reminding you of him - smoothing a wolf hide between your fingers, smelling something that reminded you of him, or having a shot of his favorite spirits.

Holding a grudge against Geralt leaving wouldn't make much sense. It wouldn't do you no good either, of which you were aware - it was much better to occupy yourself with all the boring schemes and politics, as you kept on telling Dijkstra. The spy knew even the things he wasn't supposed to, so he asked about your white-haired friend every now and then. Each time Dijsktra said his name, a small jolt of pain spread through your chest - each time, you had to put your best mask on just so Disjtra wouldn't see tears cumulating in your eyes. No matter how much you missed Geralt, you understood Destiny was a tickle power. With each night Geralt spent in your bed, the two of you were just asking to be punished for being defiant; however, nothing in the whole wide Continent could make you feel better.

However, no matter your small acts of rebellion, Destiny swayed the Witcher away from you continuously. Each time, it was different - sometimes, Geralt announced that he'd accepted a contract that would take a few days at most, coming back home to you as soon as he's done... Disappearing for months. Other times, Julian dragged Geralt into deep shit that almost every time incomprehensibly connected to some sort of political mumbo-jumbo. On a few occasions, you had to even pull a few strings just so the two idiots wouldn't get thrown into jail. Explaining to Eist that Jaskier truly didn't mean to call his aunt 'interesting as a withered apple tree' during his and Geralt's field trip to Skellige was one of the most humiliating situations you've got yourself in. Calanthé, on the other hand, almost lost his shit when you told her during the dinner, laughing so gutturally and genuinely she started crying. Mind you, she was almost sober, so it really had to be funny. Lastly, there was her. Yennefer of Vengerberg, Yenna, or simply Yen, had the worst luck when it came to Geralt. He'd always appear suddenly and uninvited, shaking up her world and whatever she had going on. The wish fulfilled by the genie had their fates intertwined, ensuring they wouldn't be able to shake the other off their back or escape the relationship unscathed. As you've discovered, the relationship was rather toxic - hate and love, untamable passion was the prominent trifecta accompanying the two lovers and no matter how much Geralt wanted to come back to you, as soon as he'd seen Yenna, his senses were clouded until the moment they had an argument and... Again. Geralt, no matter how much he'd like to, couldn't avoid these instances just because. Just like the ball of Cintra, it was bound to happen. It wouldn't be wise to defy Destiny much more than you already did.

This didn't mean you could keep yourself from pondering - when the loneliness and separation got through to you, you'd ask the Stars to show you where Geralt was, even if for a moment. Each of these instances cost you a small amount of your blood that had to be spread on your humble altar in the backyard. It was one of the reasons you'd chosen this particular cabin back when searching for a place to settle in. The thing that convinced you was the place of raw power and chaos humming in your backyard. Your palm was covered in scars soon enough. You've been good with covering them and getting them to heal well enough to remain almost invisible (much better than Geralt anyway), but Geralt scolded you each time he noticed a new addition to the collection. No matter the Witcher's whining, you kept performing the ritual just to satiate the need to know Geralt was safe and alive.

On some nights, you'd see him on his toes, potions coursing through his veins, holding a silver sword in his palms, fending off monsters. Those visions made you worried sick from the stomach, uneasy until Roach and Geralt rolled into the road leading to your cabin. Sometimes, the visions got cryptic. A flock of ravens cut your field of vision short, their annoying shrieking filling your ears. Soon, the scent of lilacs and gooseberries filled your nose, and then, for a glimpse, you'd see someone kissing each other just to hush the want and heat in their groins. These visions made you sigh as you sluggishly dragged yourself back to your cabin, opening the strongest bottle of Temerian wine you found lying around. Fucking hell, not that you'd be the jealous type, but Yennefer was leaving a sour taste in your mouth - if he was bound to anyone else but her, you'd reconcile with the fact much easier, surely. The problem was that you knew her, you knew her ways and how she acted, and for that, you hated her to bits. What was worse, Yenna's ways reminded you of yours, and that was making you hate her even more. The visions you loved the most were as clear as the summer sky. No blood or shrieking, no dangerous monsters, and no death - just Geralt sitting on Roach's back, his fingers playing with the silky fabric of your shirt as the inseparable duo (him and Jaskier) pressed on forward. Seeing him reminiscing about you as much as you did of him made you smile, heart fluttering in your chest. The buffoon, the moron, the idiot... You loved him so much.

So much so that no person could match him in your eyes. Rest assured, you tried. As mentioned, Geralt knew you well enough to be naïve and think you wouldn't be fucking anyone else. It was obvious to him that you wouldn't just you wouldn't just sit on your ass all day, saving yourself for him. If anything, it wouldn't be anything like you. Geralt wasn't the one to throw childish tantrums of jealousy either. You both talked about your other lovers frequently, actually, sharing your escapades and mishaps. At first, you seduced both men and women, didn't really matter, in search of that spark that would set you ablaze.

Soon enough, you realized it wasn't worth your time. No matter how handsome, beautiful, witty, or funny the people were, none of them had anything which would satisfy you. The sex was fine, truly - there was little that could go wrong in this regard. What was not fine were all the missing emotions - the endless, almost overwhelming love in their eyes, witty remarks, and inside jokes someone would mutter only after spending a lot of time together. Before him, it was unimaginable you'd get vulnerable enough with someone to let emotions and feeling seep into fucking - now, it was unimaginable to fuck someone without catching feelings first. No matter how horrified you were of love, it intensified everything, heightened every small emotion, and made you feel alive - as if you were asleep until that night. Even though you thought you were in love with someone before (back when you were in Emhyr's services), only now you realized how stupid that assumption was. You weren't stupid either - you knew the people you've slept with couldn't know as much information about you if you weren't giving them the time and space... But the cycle of seduction and one-night stands wasn't doing you any good. Honestly, it all started getting tiresome and boring soon.

Sure, it was pleasant to have some sort of company in your solitude now and then, but as time went by, you became uninterested. If anything, it left you unsatisfied and hollow - searching for something more. When you so desired to imitate having an actual life, you'd preferably swing by Rosemary and Thyme. This inn ensured you'd bump into an acquaintance of yours, someone who knew you and liked spending time with you... These pub tours left you more satisfied than sex itself.

While on the topic of sex, sex with Gearlt was getting better and better each time. It was always great, but as time went by, you started bringing toys and inventions purposed for lovemaking, introducing each other to unfamiliar concepts and ideas. As you built up trust in one another, you'd occasionally let him tie you up - sometimes, the Witcher would eat you out like the most delicious dish drowning in the sight of you fighting against the silky ropes, other times he'd fuck you senseless, letting you hang in the air like an art piece that he admired. Just as Geralt reaped the rewards of your trust, he was trying his best to trust right back. He'd reluctantly let you blindfold him, stripping him off his most important sense just so you could do as you pleased. It was unfamiliar and potentially frightening at first, so much so that you had to slowly coax him into trying it because Jaskier swore it was so much fun during your last drinking diversion. Geralt had to admit these were the most intense orgasms of his life. Besides the ropes and silky blindfolds, there were many more toys you got creative with. When you didn't feel adventurous or decided not to complicate things much, Geralt would let you hypnotize him, stimulating his mind with the sweetest and sultriest scenarios. Usually, you'd suck his dick while projecting the imagery, panting excitedly each time he'd come undone.

It took years before you fully committed to expanding on the fragile fundaments you've built. While not being exclusive, you were finally ready to proclaim your situation as 'being in a relationship' after the infamous Witcher started courting you. Saying the sentence out loud was fantastical in itself, let alone realizing it was actually happening. Since you could afford anything you wanted or needed, Geralt assumed that a materialistic approach to courting you wouldn't bring much success. Instead, the man concentrated on sharing memorable moments with you, making memories, and trying to build at least the illusion of the simple life he'd dreamt of for the two of you.

It started out slowly. One night, Geralt asked if you'd be interested in spending the evening riding your horses - soon, you realized it wasn't just any ride, not like the hundreds of other rides you've gone on before; the folk were celebrating the first of May, the day of love and lovers. It was wonderful to partake in the celebration instead of quietly watching it from afar. That night, you felt like you belonged in the local community for possibly... First time ever. Folk liked you, sure, but never invited you over. This celebration changed it all. Local girls made you a flower crown, gushing over local boys and the latest events as if you were friends forever. Even though you were reluctant in the beginning, the locals asked you to dance with them and drink up, telling you all the hottest rumors and fables going around. The folk even ignored and carefully accepted Geralt's presence, which was almost unheard of. You loved to sit aside and watch him play games with the children - the Witcher even agreed to perform cheap magic tricks for their pleasure, sharing some of his less gruesome stories. The elders weren't overjoyed with having a Witcher (whose eyes glowed in the dark) taking part in such celebrations, but since he was your plus one, they tolerated him.

The courting continued throughout the following year, making you giddy each time Geralt asked you if you 'had some time'. It took a lot of courage for him to finally choke the words out and ask if you'd become his lady. It wasn't a marriage proposal by any means, but it finally made things feel a bit official.

From that point on, his stays in your cabin started to feel... Different. Sure, you still fucked like your life depended on it, but that wasn't all. Suddenly, there was much more to discover and experience, even though you didn't deem it possible. You started to do all the lovey-dovey things you've read about in your romantic novels, just like other couples did. You'd bake and cook together (Geralt loved to bake and he was actually good at it), read books while cuddling under one blanket on rainy days, and bask in the sunlight on warm, sunny ones. If the weather got too hot and unbearable, you'd go for a swim in the lake. In the fall, you'd go forage and hunt in the woods, occasionally spending hours in silence as you sneaked behind the trees or sat on the shore, fishing. When you felt the need for company, you'd ride to Novigrad to either visit the theatre Julian showed you or spend nights in taverns, either indulging in gambling or listening to bards and other performers while sipping on ale. Geralt still wasn't the biggest fan of the latter, but you were teaching him to appreciate art, step by step.

Both of you remained the same as before, which you appreciated endlessly. While you were all lovey-dovey, Geralt wasn't afraid of getting broody and you weren't afraid to call him out on his bullshit. His dry sense of humor remained unchanged and his rants about the evil and moral compasses still made you roll your eyes. You still didn't see eye-to-eye regarding politics or his rather free style of bringing Cirilla up (especially the fucking part when he was being a deadbeat). Sometimes, Geralt would even do or say something so uncalled for that you'd just pick yourself up to leave. This was foreplay, generally leading to a very heated argument. These ended the way they always did - you spat insults at each other (some of which were very creative, Geralt had to admit) until you sat down, fuming for a bit.

"Better?" - He'd ask silently, the corners of his mouth slowly forming a smile. "Much better." - You'd agree, sighing. "Sorry for being a cunt-bitten coward." - Geralt would then say, making you look at him with a small smile. To that day, the Witcher choked when it came to apologies, especially when Geralt had no doubt about being in the right. However, he also discovered the hard way that admitting and owning up being a dick (as you oh so eloquently put it) was a first step when it came to rectifying the spoils of said arguments. "Sorry for being... How did you even call me?" "... Dismal-eyed and anused." "Gotta admit... That's a new one, Geralt... And a good one." "Learned it from the children when passing through the village earlier today. Glad you like it."

Everything remained the same but evolved ever so slightly. Included in this everything was also your relationship with Geralt's best friend in the whole wide world... At least according to the bard himself - knowing Jaskier, Geralt surely had little to no say in this matter. You were talking, of course, about none other than the renowned and infamous bard Julian Alfred Pankratz... Commonly going under the alias Jaskier. Geralt, however, preferred to call him a jester... Or even better, an idiot.

Ever since you've met this chaos walking on legs, you liked him. Jaskier was the polar opposite of Geralt's broody, keep-it-short-and-simple personality - the bard lived for all the drama and mythical, fantastical stories. You were positive that he was breathing for heartbreak, excitement, love, and life in general - he found inspiration in anything around him (mostly in women, though). Theatrics and excessive ballads were right up his alley. With his jolly, talkative nature, however, came a plethora of problems. The biggest one you could think of was his inability to keep his cock in his pants, having at least one man chasing after his throat at any place he showed. Sometimes, Julian could be a bit naïve and even though he was one of the smartest and wisest people you've met (in his own regard), he could suffer with momentary verbosity - saying the most unnecessary shit at the most inappropriate time.

Julian shared his most scandalous escapades with you in person, others and more recent moments usually made it to you in the form of stories - Dijkstra didn't waste a second before sharing them as soon as he heard them. The depth or nature of your relationship towards Jaskier wasn't known to Dijkstra - the spy, however, knew you were both friends of Geralt's. In Djikstra's book, this translated into the two of you surely meeting at least once. Your favorite story covered a ball in Redania. There, Jaskier unknowingly, however continuously, insulted one of the crown princes to Redania's throne simply because the prince said Julian's singing is 'about as delightful as a roast burnt to crisp'. This almost resulted in Julian's head being cut off. If Philippa Eilhart wouldn't have stepped in, he'd surely be dead by now.

You could recall the first night Jaskier searched for you in the time of need - it was during deep winter, one of the harshest ones you've lived through. The sun was nowhere to be seen for weeks, nights coming as soon as early afternoon. The weather was cold, and the blizzards didn't stop coming. The folk required your assistance and herbal hooches and conjunctions almost daily. At the end of December, you've even decided it would be better to set out to nearby villages and knock on each door yourself, instead of risking the folk getting lost or freezing to death. So, you've committed - every other day, you'd set out on the road to see if the folk needed your help and to what extent they needed it. On the worst of nights, you rode from village to village in your territory until morning came. It was the busiest winter in the last decade - the types of illnesses and ailments varied greatly, making you worried about your impressive herb supply... Which was significantly getting smaller every time you opened it. At this rate, you were getting worried about where in the fuck were you gonna get more herbs.

Nightmares and depressions were simple enough to deal with - passionfruit or peppermint teas usually did the trick if used in combination with lemon balm for a good night's rest. When the bad dreams and other demons got too out of hand, you'd offer to use Axii to ease their minds. Colds and flu were giving you a run for your money, but they were easy enough to deal with - pepper or garlic soup and ginger teas brewed with a spoon of wild honey tended to do wonders. If the folk mixed just the right amount, they were back on their feet in no time. Sometimes, you had to deal with frostbite, which was not that hard - to your surprise and horror, you've become something of a midwife during the upcoming month. The snow was blocking the paths and there were not enough druids and certified healers to take care of every case. Not that you'd be requested by the folk for this purpose - you usually had bad fucking timing, coming at the right place at the wrong time. Rest assured, during your fifth labor, you already knew what to do and how things should be progressing - if there was something off, you were enough experienced of a healer to make a concoction to help get the mother on the right track. Pneumonia, however, horrified you deeply. There was no certainty if the infected folk would make it to see the following morn, let alone be cured successfully. You spent night after night mixing peppermint concussions at local taverns, praying to the Stars for saving at least one of them. Some slowly started getting better under your care... But.. The images and memories of watching children passing away with high fevers, their bodies trembling ever so gently, sweaty and pale as snow, their lips dark blue due to asphyxiation were sure to haunt you for the rest of your day.

Even worse than that all the ailments were monsters and wild animals. All these creatures were also becoming desperate for a morsel of food and a place of shelter that would offer at least some degree of warmth and cover. Attacks were becoming more frequent when it came to wolves and wild dogs. Wolves were usually timid and ran way before humans could spot them - if these animals were desperate enough to tear an arm off a man's shoulder, how long would it take for bears and other predators to endanger the folk? Your question, thankfully, wasn't answered. The 'arm incident' was the worst that animal attack got. Monster nests found around the fields and farms were frozen - the creatures who used to inhabit those nests lay around the remnants of their creation lifelessly. Rigor mortis was slowly setting in as ice and snow covered them, hiding the horrifying view out of sight. That was, possibly, the only good thing this winter brought. How would the balance be restored in the spring? You didn't have the energy to ponder such things during those trying times.

The folk didn't exactly blame you for being unsuccessful, mainly because the success rate was 50-50; they were grateful knowing someone was working hard to keep them safe and in good health. Even though the hate wasn't coming and likely wasn't ever going to come, you had trouble living with yourself. Looking at your own reflection was proving to be a tedious, dreadful task. Taking care of yourself wasn't simple, something like a proper sleeping schedule, let alone a drinking and eating schedule was becoming alien to you. You could barely recall the last time you took a proper bath. Anytime you'd arrive home, you'd break down in tears, thinking about what you could do differently - to maybe say one or two more poor souls. Were your mixtures too weak? Were your concoctions brewed wrong? Did you pick out the wrong herbs or add the wrong amount of ingredients? You've done everything you could... But it wasn't enough.

On top of illnesses galore, the overall quality of your life was also slowly going down. The snow drifts blocked paths and roads, complicating the transportation of supplies, exclusive goods, and food from the south. You hadn't seen fruit, such as grape wine or lemons, for a month by that point. Good news? There was enough alcohol in Novigrad to supply you until the spring rolls around. Sure, you realized you had the luxury and affluence to eat potatoes and miserable vegetables bought in the city. You also hung and portioned a deer hunted down, ensuring you'd have enough for at least two weeks. Your horse wasn't overjoyed with sharing his stable with a skinned venison, but you didn't spend time arguing with him. No matter, eating the same dish every night wasn't fulfilling. It was fine and kept you on your feet, but nothing to get too excited about... Thankfully, that was the night the bard came and shook up your entire world.

It happened in the deep of the night. The wind was howling, and your fireplace was filled to the brim with logs just so you could rest safely, assuming you'll have all your fingers by the morn. The ice-cold wind was bumping into the walls of your cabin, seeping through the small cracks. It was also loud. It could've been shortly past midnight when you decided to call it a night, put your book away, and blew the candles out so you could dive into darkness. As you found the right position for sleeping after half an hour of rolling over, someone frantically knocked on the cabin's door. The sense of urgency was unmissable. You reacted immediately, got out of bed, and threw a heavy coat of fur over your shoulders in case you'd have to leave immediately. Thankfully, you were tasked to stay on hand. The wife of one of the local farmers, Martička, was due to go into labor any day now, but the midwife needed to stock up on some herbs and medicine in Novigrad. Naturally, you offered the farmer to seek you out in case of need.

Instead of Janek, however, there was someone you didn't recognize at first. The moment the door opened, his knees gave out. The stranger, seemingly unable to control his freezing body, collapsed into your arms, making you falter to the ground. After kicking the door closed with your foot, you started to inspect the newcomer... Just to realize it was Julian lying in front of you. His eyes were cold, the tip of his nose dark red, his skin turned ashen pale. His cheeks were frozen, his lips dry. "Oh, Melitelé." - You mumbled, smoothing and gently pinching various spots on his face just to get a reaction. When nothing happened, you started to snap your fingers next to his ear, finally making his eyes flutter open. Knowing he was at least alive made you let out a peal of relieved laughter as you leaned your forehead to his chest. - "Thank the Stars, thank to Melitelé, you're alive. You're looking fucking tarnished, dearest bard." "My apologies, m'lady, I'll make sure I look my best the next time you lay your eyes on me." - the bard chuckled dryly, patting your shoulder. As soon as he did that, he started hissing - the pain in his fingers just multiplied. - "I don't know if it's the fever, but you're looking lovelier than the last time we met." - Julian got out with trouble, choking on his cough.

Hearing how Jaskier coughed, you could feel the panic rising in your chest. No. Not this. Not him. Not your drinking buddy. Not a person you were actually attached to. This didn't sound good at all, the sound of his cough was reminiscing of the sick children... The way they choked. You ordered Jaskier to get into bed, starting to heat up a whole cauldron of water so you could use it for preparing warm and other herbal wraps. You had to work quickly. The moment you started taking his clothes off you realized... The clothes didn't match the outside weather at all.

"What in Vesemir's name were you thinking?!" - Now, you were full-on scolding him like a little boy, hanging his summery jacker over the fireplace to warm it up and make all the snow and crystals of ice unfreeze. The clothes Jaskier wore were paper thin, no wonder he looked the way he looked. - "You go out in this fucking weather in this clothing? What were you thinking, you darned artless, beef-witted barnacle?! That you're going for a summer stroll by the lake?!" "Your hands..." - The man whispered weakly, ignoring your screaming altogether, looking at you with his eyes glassy. His cheeks were reddening, his body was starting to burn up. Fever was coming. You had to get on brewing hooch and tea right away. - "They're... Burning hot, Y/N. Do you have a fever?" "You're the one who has a fever." - You answered, chuckling dryly. Yelling at him in this state would be as useful as trying to shut him up. - "Lift your legs for me, come on now, let me take the trousers off." "No." - Jaskier protested, shaking his head as he weakly tried to preserve the last remnants of his dignity. - "If it's supposed to happen, it surely won't happen like this. I've imagined this night many times before and this is certainly not the way it goes down." "You've imagined... Julian Alfred Pankratz." - There was a clear warning in your voice accompanied by a hint of amusement as you started taking his boots off, making sure you were able to cover most of his body with a thick blanket. The way he thought about having sex even on his deathbed, however, was making you laugh. - "I'm not about to fuck you. I'm about to heal you." "Yeah... That makes more sense." - The bard agreed, helping you slip his trousers down so you could hang them over the fireplace too.

"Fancy answering my question now, bard?" - You asked as you sat next to the cauldron, letting Jaskier sprawl all over your bed. He was huddled in thick blankets and various hides and furs; you made sure he didn't have any frostbite before you put a heating pan under his ankles and made him sip on peppermint tea with honey and jasmine mixed in. "What would you like to know?" "Why aren't you reasonably clothed?" "I didn't have much time to pack my bags before he threw me out." - Julian admitted silently. You've turned your head to him, furrowing at him. Who threw him out? Geralt? No, he might've found Julian annoying and yappy but he also loved him dearly - you've heard Geralt admitting it a few times after drinking all night. What happened, then?

"Who threw you out, Julian?" - The tone of your voice was now gentle, it was silent and patient. When was Geralt when Jaskier got his ass in deep trouble? Long gone, obviously. - "Were you attacked? Are there people after you?" "I was..." - The man started answering, yet as soon as you heard the tone of his voice, you realized where was this fucking ordeal heading. "Again? Seriously? Come on, bard!" - You exclaimed, clicking your tongue in disappointment. You were almost about to get mad at Geralt for letting Julian die somewhere in the wilderness. "It's not pleasant to watch a husband struggling to approach his very own wife, trust me. And for the record, I wasn't seducing her - I was nudging him to flirt with her... And he took it the wrong way." - Jaskier explained as if it was as simple as that. "If you hadn't done your damnest to fuck the poor lass, Jaskier, you might as well call me fucking Foltest of Temeria. You need to learn how to keep your cock in your pants, seriously." - By that point, you were handing him roasted potatoes and venison you'd just warmed up on the stove. The hooch was almost finished by that point - it was sure to knock Jaskier out cold.

"Thank you, dearest friend. The dish looks delicious." "Eat up, bard. Hopefully, it will taste as well as it looks. To be honest, there's something on my mind... How did you find my house? You've never been here, we mostly bump into one another in Oxenfurt... Or Novigrad." - You asked, sitting on the bed beside the man, leaning into the wooden wall behind you. Jaskier put the plate down for a bit, chewing on the food absentmindedly - even before Jaskier figured out how to put it, you already knew what he was about to say. "He... He sent me here. He was just leaving the city when I caught up to him, begging for help." - Jaskier explained silently, still chewing on the same mouthful. - "Said you'd understand and that he was sure you'd be willing to help me. Also asked me to pass his best regards." "Oh." - Was all you said, picking yourself up so you could check on the hooch.

So... Geralt was in Novigrad, just a few kilometers away from you. Yet he didn't pull up at your doorstep. There was only one possible explanation - he was with Yenna. Trying to keep your head in the moment, you let out a long exhale. "I'm... Sorry, Y/N." - Jaskier apologized tenderly, an unhappy expression on his face. He knew about your relationship, of course he did. Neither you nor Geralt talked openly about it in front of Jaskier, but it was more than fucking obvious that things were going great between the two of you. It was just earlier that year when Geralt started courting you - now, their paths collided again. She was under his spell as much as he was under hers.

"There's nothing to apologize for, friend, it was all accounted for the moment I voluntarily kissed him. This is the grudge I chose, this is my path to trudge." - You smiled, pouring the hooch into a porcelain mug so you could serve it to Jaskier later. - "I brought it on myself." After he was done with his meal, you were there to hold the mug next to him. - "I'll be by your side for the night, don't worry. This will help. You'll be better by the morn, I promise." - You promised when you noticed that Jaskier was eyeing the liquid with rising suspicion. Nodding, Julian accepted the medicine and drank all of it, not mouthing a word against its strong, herbal, dreadful taste. As Jaskier's lids got heavy, his breathing started to steady itself. The fever was slowly going away, you noted with a smile. It was nothing but flu, thankfully. "For the record, Y/N..." - Julian managed to get out half-asleep, his tongue struggling greatly with those simple words. - "You've always been my favorite... Out... Out of the two of you." "Thanks." - You whispered, smoothing his hair and mindlessly playing with his locks. This act prompted Jaskier to put his head on your thighs, hugging them with his forearm. As he did that, deep slumber finally overtook him, leaving you stuck in this position for the rest of the night. Honestly, you appreciated it - knowing Geralt was so close yet so far away gave you a heartache, especially knowing he won't be making it to you anytime soon. Jaskier was an unexpected company, surely, but not spending the night on your own felt... Nice. Given how much shit was going down lately. For the first time in a long time, someone else gave you the feeling of home and serenity you couldn't find anywhere.

Just like you promised, Jaskier felt much better in the morning. Jaskier was walking around the cabin, stretched his limbs, and checked if he still possessed all of his fingers. You, on the other hand, were bound to be cranky. You were sleeping while sitting, the muscles on your back were tightened and in pain. You were lying down when you woke up only thanks to Jaskier waking up before you, carefully laying you down himself. That said, your mood was abysmal when you opened your eyes. The man was thoughtful enough to make tea and prepared the last piece of bread for breakfast - presumably, Jaskier also found the last bits of blueberry marmalade you've hidden in the far corner of your pantry. Clearly, it wasn't hidden well enough.

"I'll buy you a new jar, my promises, m'lady." - The bard swore, putting down a mug and plate on the edge of the bed, letting you take your time to wake up. - "Don't know what herbs you've put into that hellish concoction, but I'm feeling like a brand new man. Even better, my lute made it out unharmed. All is fine and well." "Glad to hear that." "Anyway, what you've planned for the day, dearest friend?" "Gotta do my routine check-up on the village down south - promised I'd stop by yesterday. Couldn't, because I needed to be ready to assist during labor. Anka, the midwife, should be back around noon today, so I'm free to go today." "That sounds wonderful!" - The man laughed, clapping his hands together. - "Or... You could come help me get my bags back and in return, I'll assist you with... Whatever stuff you herbalists do." "How would you assist me?" "Trust me, I'd find a way." - Jaskier winked at you. Even though you were very inclined to stick your boot up his arse, you sighed and nodded, taking a bite from the bread. You'd rather get done with Julian's shit first, so he wouldn't pester and yap about it later. Melitelé, Julian was fucking lucky that the blueberry marmalade was as good as it was, the sweet goo alone made your mood significantly better.

Later that day, you handled haggling with the disgraced husband in hopes of Jaskier not getting his ass manhandled by the 6'2 man, no matter how hilarious the thought itself was. After ensuring Jaskier had all of his stuff back, the bard did everything he promised in return. First, Jaskier caught your hand and dragged you all the way to the slums of Novigrad, introducing you to an elven bootlegger, who, funnily enough, had a ridiculous sweet tooth. Anytime you'd have a craving for something sweet, it was worth a shot to ask this guy. As promised, you were gifted seven jars of various types of marmalade. Ensuring you'd swing by soon, the elderly elven rascal even gave you an extra jar of marmalade.

Since you've also mentioned running low on herbs sometime during the morning, Jaskier also introduced you to yet another friend of his. This time, it was a sweet elderly lady, whose shop was right next to Passiflora. You've never noticed it, but she had everything you required and promised that if you'd ordered herbs right there and then, they'd be delivered to her later that week. Julian unintentionally rescued you out of a deep shithole. Keeping all of his promises, the chatty bard also accompanied you during check-ups on the folk. You were mentally prepared to apologize for his verbosity and ensured you could cover his mouth fast enough. The prospect of Jasker running his mouth horrified you, but... It wasn't half bad, actually. No matter the ailment, Julian was sure to bring a good mood and peals of laughter into each home. When asked, Jaskier didn't waste a second before telling the children unbelievable whimsical stories or chatting with the adults, helping him to come to other thoughts. There were a few times when people even asked him to sing. Sure, under any different circumstances, he'd be perceived as yappy, annoying, and unbelievably unpleasant - yet during this winter, the folk took every chance to ease their minds and brighten up their mood.

You dozed off during your ride home; your last night's sleep sucked shit, your body hurt and your brain was fucking exhausted, turned into mush. Julian, naturally sitting right behind you, took the reigns out of your palms and assured you were huddled into your furry coat tightly, cuddling you in a more comfortable position before prompting your horse to continue. Since you saved his ass last night, Jasker promised himself he'd take care of everything for the night - first in order, he carefully put you in bed, taking your shoes. Cleaning the fireplace and starting a fire was simple enough, just like feeding your horse, and ensuring the stable was warm enough for the animal. The duo even shared a measly carrot Jaskier found in the pantry before it was time to cook dinner. That was when the trouble started. He wasn't the best cook... Well, he probably wasn't even a good cook to begin with. With enough nerve and confidence, however, he found spices and got to preparing roasted potatoes and some venison. It was your grumbling stomach and the smell of tasty food and warm tea that woke you up later.

As you sat inside your cabin in utter silence later that night, both paying attention to your separate activities, Jaskier asked if you'd like him to stick around for a bit. Jaskier explained it would be beneficial for both of you. He needed to have a place to stay (had to take part in some scholastic nonsense at the university) over the following month and you desperately needed some help. When you woke up the next morning, first, you rode to Novigrad to commission a sleeping hammock for him - you asked if he'd prefer his own bed, but the idea of a hammock was more alluring to the bard.

The two of you were friends for quite some time by that point; he had known you for a long time and seen you at both your best and worst (usually hammered under the table in Rosemary and Thyme, that was). Jaskier would've to be blind not to notice how torn down and exhausted you were. The bard gladly offered to run errands for you and help you with chores around the cabin - he'd gladly travel to Novigrad to get you the herbs you'd need (only if you'd write him a list, that was) or vegetables, wine, pastry, and other good, so you could ease up a bit and have more time to rest. That offer... Sounded fucking heavenly. With a grateful smile and not much thought to it, you accepted. A week turned into two weeks, two turned into three, and before you knew it, March came around the corner, spring following closely. The blizzards stopped. The snow melted as the temperature rose. The morning you spotted the first daffodil poking its bright yellow bloom through the remnants of snow, a wave of relief crashed over your chest. Everything was going to turn around. Everything was going to be alright.

It brought new hope and signaled things were changing ever so slightly. Life was coming back to frozen woods, lakes, rivers, and fields. If you and Jaskier were lucky and very quiet, you could watch hinds and baby deer walking through the surrounding meadows or hear the distant buzzing of bees waking up from slumber. The air smelled sweet, humid, and heavy with pollen. Nature had a lot of work cut out for that spring, so it wasted no time - you've noticed a whole bunch of early bloomers. Farmers wasted no time with planting the upcoming year's harvest. Trade was starting to stabilize in no time. The goods were even a bit cheaper before the economy stabilized once more. It took a bit before the value of crowns went up, so Oren was in a very good position. It didn't take long, but it was nice to buy your morning bread for one fucking Oren. As you've said, everything was going to be okay now.

Sadly, Geralt was nowhere to be seen... But things weren't as bad and dark when you had Julian around. Mainly because the two of you got along very well, you liked to think. It was calming to come home after a long day to find Jaskier attempting his best to cook dinner (the poor soul was doing his best with doing the chores, but he wasn't cut out for it) while bumbling about his newest scholastic finding. The longer his stay, the more new things you found out about him - you've always known Julian was very intelligent... In his own regard. Bards had the memory of a library, remembering every little silly story and fact they learned. That was why Jaskier was able to tell you about every Gwent card you owned. As he was explaining his scholastic discoveries to you, however, you realized Jakier was very fucking intelligent in general. He was just unable to take things seriously and concentrate for one damned day of his life... And also cursed with easily falling in love.

Your friendship worked well, the best it ever had in fact. The man knew how to make you laugh, complimented you on each chance he got, and even did his best not to involve himself with married women during his stay so you wouldn't have to deal with the ruckus these affairs tended to end in. Admittedly, Jaskier failed once or twice during your visits to Rosemary and Thyme and other inns of Novigrad, but overall, it was a great success. You, on the other hand, knew how to handle his moods and insecurities, and didn't scrutinize every little step or decision he made (as others tended to), no matter how senseless and idiotic it might've seemed. Even though you laughed at his actions or choices of words, you never laughed at Julian. That quality of yours was so fucking refreshing for Julian because he felt like he was not taken as the butt of the joke for once.

It wasn't easy to pinpoint what caused it... But... Something started to shift. It was a few days before he was set to leave when you finally took notice. You were both preparing for the following morning in your own regard - you've been reading through a formal request you've received from Triss Merigold and Jaskier was putting together his best outfit, asking you if he's looking presentable enough. He was supposed to be debating over whether his thesis was good enough to be accepted by the scholastic community... Whatever that was about. As he walked around the cabin mumbling to himself, you caught yourself staring at him, unable to look away. His hair was disheveled, too long for your taste, his stubble was getting a bit too stretchy and visible, and he was furrowing at something regarding those damned jackets. "I was asking... What is it?" - Jaskier asked, seemingly repeating the question. Furrowing at him, you shook your head. "What... Is... What, precisely?" "That's what I am asking you... You've been staring at me for the last ten minutes, you haven't moved a bit. Can I help you with anything? Are you perhaps searching for a specific word again?" "I wasn't... Staring. You're being delusional, I think. The jackets got to you." - You mumbled, your face flushing in reaction to his accusation. Not the accusation about being unable to remember a word, you've been over that before... But the accusation. Were you staring? Surely... No, according to the shit-eating grin, you definitely were staring.

You caught yourself staring and daydreaming over more occasions. The alarming part was that you weren't daydreaming about Geralt. You even got these... Impulses and small, selfish thoughts running through your head. For example, you were fucking itching for Jaskier to finally take you by your hand - each time his fingers would brush over yours, you could feel a giddy spark of electricity shooting up your arm. At first, you thought Jaskier wasn't even aware; you never shied away from being touchy-feely... Bumping his hand to yours... No big fucking deal. That was until you noticed he stumbled on his words and had to cough whenever it happened. Sometimes, he'd be yapping away over dinner... Telling you a story that happened earlier or something like that. What were you doing instead of listening? Staring at his lips in hopes you could just... Lean in and kiss him. Whenever nightmares got to you, Jaskier would sit by the bed and sing you the loveliest of tales and lullabies to lull you back to sleep; he'd remain there until being sure that you were truly asleep, nothing frightening you to death. Before, it wasn't hard not to stare at him when he took his clothes off when taking a bath - your eyes never gravitated towards him even though Jaskier's vain attempts at making you look. Now, all you wanted to was stare at him as he let the expansive, fancy shirts slip off his forearm and fall to the ground... It was hard as fuck to control yourself enough to close the door leading to the cabin, letting him get some privacy. You were becoming... Confused, to say the least. No matter the approach, you couldn't grasp the situation.

You've been in love with Geralt - that much was a given. Despite this 'given' in particular, Jaskier was excellent at making you flustered and speechless. For whatever fucking reason, he could make your heart flutter as if it were a bird trying to break free of its cage. The rest... Started slowly coming on its own.

You fought the urge to address the confusion for the longest time, secretly hoping it would all stop if you waited long enough for the situation to fizzle out. At first, you were sure the emotions and love you felt for the bard were strictly platonic, that it was all inside your head. However, as the first signs of Julian possibly developing identical feelings started to show, the whole 'platonic' part was out of the window. But before you mustered enough courage to ask him if it's real and whether he'd be interested in giving it a shot... It was his time to leave Novigrad.

It was utterly gutwrenching to watch him leave after two whole months - he informed you, however, that he'd be back in Novigrad in early summer. You made him promise he'd surely come to visit his favorite priestess in his whole wide world. That was the first time this man smoothed your chin to turn your head a bit, placing a soft, sweet kiss on your cheek. After pulling away, Julian seemingly waited for something (anything) to happen - whatever it was, you just smoothed the palm that held your chin, smiling at him. "The summer can't come fast enough." "Indeed, m'lady... Indeed."

What was the moment you realized you were fucked? As Jaskier waved at you for the last time before disappearing into the woods, the gaping hole inside your chest opened up again - bigger than before. This time around, there wasn't anyone drying your tears, so you allowed yourself to slide down the doorframe in tears. This time, it wasn't just missing him that you had to worry about - how in Bruxa's were you going to explain this? 'Listen, haha, Geralt, the funniest thing had happened - I got this sudden urge to kiss and fuck Jaskier... Also, I've fallen in love with him I think, what's your take on it?' Fucking no. 'So, Jaskier hanged at my place for the last two months, and remember how I always joked he'd never get under my fucking skirt? Yeah, well, about that...' Well, that sounded like the start of a bad anecdote. Funnily enough, you got too caught up in your own head to realize Geralt was one of the very few people who'd understand your situation.

As promised, Jaskier arrived in Novigrad in late June - as soon as he managed to sort out his future concert arrangements, he set out on the long walk to your cabin. Just as you spent the last few months overworking yourself and worrying over what you're gonna go when you slip up (yes - not 'if' you slip up but 'when' you slip up), the bard, surprisingly, spent a lot of time thinking of you. Jaskier wasn't entirely oblivious and noticed some signs of attraction here and there... The depth of the emotions he felt, however, wasn't clear to him at first (mainly thanks to his ability to be enamored by every living, breathing humanoid creature, constantly being interested in anything else other than reminiscing), but he worked towards the realization over time. During his travels in Toussaint, Jaskier often missed the smell of your perfume lingering in the air after you'd leave to deal with those boring fucking politics. He missed helping with the small things - fastening your necklaces or buttoning up the parts on your back you couldn't reach with your hands. He'd look up from his lyrics in search of you, to get your opinion... Realizing you were hundreds of kilometers away.

Well... Fuck, was all Jaskier concluded. On his way to your cabin, he did his best to create an acceptable bouquet of wildflowers to give to you. He hoped it would soften you so you'd listen to the confession he planned for the last two weeks. Jaskier tried scribing his thoughts and emotions into a letter he'd send you, but that didn't feel personal enough. He wished to look you in the eyes when confiding and confessing something so intimate and important. That was how he found himself stumbling through the meadows, mumbling nonsense under his breath. He was probably seeing things that weren't real, signs that were never there and if anything, Jaskier was getting ready to be rejected. However, he was willing to give it a shot, being a fool in love. The excitement of seeing you after months of being apart, the nervousness, all the heightened emotions overtook him... He could feel his stomach tingling, his palms tingling and his breath was short as if he walked a hundred miles.

Until his heart dropped in his chest, his skin turning ashen pale as he watched two particular people dancing and laughing. His two best friends were the two particular people embracing. The two people he was a fool for (except his petty fallout with Geralt back in Caingorn a few months back, but that was a different story). What... What was Jaskier even thinking? Watching as you fell onto the man's chest, laughing while putting your head on his shoulder just so you'd bring him closer... What was he thinking? No matter how many scenarios Jaskier had imagined, Geralt was never present during his love confession. Of course, Jaskier knew about the two of you (had his idea, anyway) but watching it really happen was otherworldly, agonizing in the worst sense. The sight of you two looking so happy caught Jaskier off-guard.

Suddenly, the meadow didn't feel the same. Jaskier got used to watching early spring slowly approaching beside you, and when looking back, he loved every second he was able to spend in the cabin; you'd set out to pick herbs and flowers, sometimes sat beside the window and watched baby deer wobbling around, and even sat by the fucking lake for the entire afternoon and caught fish, lazily basking in the weak March sunlight. A few times, when neither of you had to deal with papers, you'd take him to the brook and walk in it with your ankles bare, laughing at how cold the water was. All those beautiful, peaceful memories turned increasingly grayer the longer Jaskier watched you. The windows of your cabin were wide open, the smell of honey and mint lingering in the air; even though this remained identical, it didn't bring him comfort this time.

Laughing at his stupidity, Jaskier let out a frustrated scream before forcefully throwing the flower on the ground, turning on his heels, and disappearing back into the woods as fast as he could. The screaming caught Geralt's attention - putting his palms on your waist and holding you in place, he stopped to take a peak out of the window, searching for the source of the ruckus.

"Were you expecting someone?" - The Witcher asked, unable to make out who the stranger walking down the road was. "No, I don't think I was..." - You mumbled, joining Geralt in staring into the night. You couldn't see shit, however, so you weren't that much of a help. - "Wait a moment... Did I lose track of time again? Geralt, what time of the month is it? It's late May, right?" "Late June, actually. Think I've been here for far too long, your pretty head is all messed up." - Geralt remarked with a grin, smoothing your lower back. Usually, you'd jokingly tease him about this comment, so your silence was worrying, to say the least. Well, at least he wasn't wrong - Geralt tended to have this effect on you. Every time he appeared on your doorstep, the greater universe around you shrunk into the size of your cabin, making you ignorant of everything that was going on around you. Five years later, he still affected you like this. Realizing Geralt was living with you for the past few weeks, it wasn't hard to believe your perception of time got all messed up. Fuck, you felt like a dud. As you processed the information, colors faded from your face, your lips whispering one singular word.

"Jaskier?" - Geralt repeated with genuine surprise, letting out a huffy chuckle. - "What does Jaskier, of all people, have to do with all of this?" "Before he left to... God knows where, Jaskier told me he'd be back in Novigrad in early summer." - You admitted, trying to calm your anxiety down - your knuckles were running up and down your ribcage, hoping the dull pain would help a bit. Your breathing got heavy the moment you sat on your bed, almost as if you were about to faint. - "Promised he'd stop by. Fuck, how could I forget?" "Oh, have you two met recently? How's he doing? Mingling with the Novigrad's cream, I'd presume." "Don't play stupid with me, Geralt. We both know well that you smelled him as soon as you opened the door. Came the night you sent him out to look for me, that's when. Poor fool stumbled in dressed in summer clothes, almost froze on his way here." - You clarified, stretching out your neck. - "Why are you acting so weird about it anyway, had the two of you argued again?" "Did Jaskier mention anything?" "Now that I think about it, he didn't talk about you at all... Which is fucking weird." "I'll tell you about Caingorn later, Y/N. Let's just say I couldn't stomach him for a bit back then and... Yes. Almost forgot that happened." "No wonder you can't recall, Yenna had you wrapped around her pretty little finger... No offense." "None taken." "Geralt... I think... There's something we need to talk about." - The moment you opened this genie in a bottle, all the amusement and mischief left Geralt's expression. He followed in your steps, sitting on the bed beside you - carefully, Geralt took the palm you had on your ribcage, holding it in his. "Whatever's on your mind, I'm here to listen."

You spent the night clarifying the mess inside your head, detailing everything that happened, all you felt, and all the other conflicting thoughts and emotions. By the end of the monologue, Geralt was lifelessly staring somewhere next to you and you were in tears, assuring Geralt you loved him, as if it wasn't obvious enough already. His expression was unreadable, but at least he wasn't spiteful or enraged. There was a hint of tenderness in his eyes, but that was it. That was something, you guessed. It wasn't the clarity you were searching for and remotely near to the answers you wanted, but still... Something.

"What have you concluded?" - You whispered, staring at Geralt. His palm tightly held your upper thigh, forcefully drawing small circles into your skin, kneading it like dough. It was starting to hurt quite a bit, to be honest. You did your best to dry your tears, waiting for what Geralt had to say. "Well, isn't it quite obvious?" - His voice gave you goosebumps. It came across as lifeless and animated. You didn't know about Geralt's confusion with how you complicated things. You both knew you were in love, always knew you'd search for each other in the deepest ends of hell, and found each other no matter how many bones would Destiny throw at you. As long as you wouldn't be leaving him behind (the only thing Geralt was truly horrified about), there was no problem. Never in his life would he expect to be your only lover, just as you didn't expect to be his. - "Why don't you just cut the pain and tell him?" "Tell Jaskier what?" "That you're in love with him." - Geralt clarified as if his point couldn't be more comprehensible.

Everything from how he looked at you to the tone of his voice was enraging you, making you grit your teeth together and stand up, doing your best not to scream out loud. Why was he so calm? In all the romantic novels, the lovers would argue and clarify everything, promising undying love - instead, Geralt furrowed at you as if he wasn't fully getting your point. Before stopping yourself to try to understand the point Geralt was trying to get across, you were already screaming at him.

"So, this is how it all ends. The great, forbidden romance between the Witcher and the Priestess? Hm? Why did we defy the Destiny and the Stars for so long? Just for the fun of it? Just so you'd forget how Yenna always tosses you aside like an unwanted pup? We both knew that what we were attempting was hard and took a lot of time and patience, but I'm not willing to give up on it if that's what you think. I told you that I'm clueless because I know my heart's beating for you, moron. Every time you leave, I become restless. Sometimes, I get lonely and confused, wishing someone would be by my side. Every time you leave, a part of me leaves with you. I'm doing my best to fight it, but... I'm weak, my love. Jaskier... He... Showed up when I was going through the worst of it, this winter was slowly making me lose my mind. I held dying children in my arms, Geralt. People were starving, wolves tore people's limbs off, I had to take care of fingers that fucking fell off of someone's hand, and I helped newborn babies come into the world. I was burning out, crying myself to sleep every night, and here and there were even moments when I thought about just ending their suffering mys... Doesn't matter. Then, Jaskier appeared. He made everything better, helped me around, kept an eye on me, and distracted me whenever it was too much. I thought it was nothing - we had been friends for a long, nothing ever happened... I mean, you know how he gets, but that was it. And then, when he was leaving... A part of me left with him too. That was the moment I realized."

"Y/N, stop yourself and take a breath. What are you talking about? You don't have to explain or humiliate yourself because you think you've done something wrong." - Geralt reiterated immediately, standing up to match your actions. - "What kind of an end are you anticipating, wench?" "I just admitted that I've fallen in love with someone else, dim-wit. What else could it mean?" - You squealed back at him, crying again. Upon hearing what you've said, Geralt straightened up and chuckled, almost blowing your fuse off again. Just to be sure, he quickly closed the distance between you, smoothing strands of hair off your sweaty forehead, and drying your tears with his thumps before offering you a gentle, sweet kiss.

"Have I told you that you can be the most hot-headed, headstrong woman I know?" - The man whispered, kissing your cheeks ever so lightly to calm you down. "You've mentioned it here and there." - You nodded with your eyes closed, a relieved grin growing on your face. "Listen. If there was anyone who should apologize, it's me. I knew what kind of relationship I dragged you into, but selfish enough not to let you go. While I'm traveling the world, you're here, alone and..."

"Not true, come on. Haven't you heard I'm consoling Eist and Calanthé? Dijkstra is making me busy..." "That's not the point. You deserve a simple, good life with someone who loves you. If... If we weren't what we turned out to be, I'd do everything in my power to court you and make you the happiest woman on the Continent." - Geralt whispered while kissing your forehead, making your heart crack a bit. "But that's not what I am - it's not who you are either. Look at me." - Holding onto his palms, you looked him in the eyes. Now, Geralt looked truly anxious - his lips pressed together, eyebrows knitted, eyes narrowed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks as if you were to crumble into dust if he truly touched you. There was the reaction you were looking for - now, it worried you to death. - "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, Geralt. That's a given." "Then... I'm not in the right to judge you for falling in love with someone else. It's my fault I'm not here and it's not your fault you're alone. As long as you're counting on me, I trust you." - With that, the man brought you close to his chest, slipping his palm into your hair and other on the small of your back. - "If that's what you desire, I want to let you have it. Depends on whether he's feeling the same, but knowing Jaskier... Actually, I'm lucky it's him of all people." "What do you mean by that?" "Imagine you'd tell me you've fallen for Dijsktra. Or worse... Foltest." "Oh dear, can you imagine the travels? Yuck." - You laughed, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

"So, you are really not... Enraged or disappointed?" "If anything, I expected that we'd have this conversation sooner. Enraged? Not in the slightest. Being disappointed is up for debate - you could've fallen for anyone... And from all of the people of Novigrad, you chose this jester." "Come on, he's your best friend, you grumpy bastard. The two of you are so in love it pains me to watch you dancing around the topic instead of addressing it." "I know." - Geralt answered ambiguously, sending you a warm smile. To which part of the sentence the 'I know' belonged was unclear, but you figured it was an answer to all of it. Then, not addressing the admission, Geralt furrowed at you with jitters in his eyes. - "You're still saying that you're sure we're attracted to each other, wench? After all this time?" "The jury's still out... But I'm more or less positive." - There you were; the girl Geralt loved to death. The bright smile, the lusty look in her eyes, the heavenly smell... For a bit, he was worried he might lose you.

"So, you believe me, then?" - You asked, letting go of him so you could pour each of you a glass of wine. Your brain couldn't grasp the topic quite yet, especially since the conversation turned out entirely different than what you'd braced for. "Believe you what, precisely? That that the jury's still out? I know you well enough to believe you never let these things go easily." "Fuck off, you cunt-bitten brood. What I'm asking is if you believe me when I tell you I'm in love with both of you... And him?"

"Fine, let me put it the unpleasant way. For how long am I coming back home to you while still being allured by Yen?" "... A few years now." - You whispered in agreement, finally catching onto his point of view. Truthfully, you never tried looking at the situation from this perspective. The least you expected was for Geralt to either leave the cabin after you confess to him or to ask you not to do it. While going insane over what a horrendous hypocrite you might be, you never stopped yourself for long enough to piece this information together.

"While I know it pains you to hear it, I, of all people, know it's possible to be in love with multiple people at once." - Geralt admitted silently, accepting the glass you offered him. "But why him? That's what confuses me. We both know what an idiotic, restless charmer Jaskier is. I was sure I was making things up, noticing things that weren't real - but he managed to sweep me off my feet." "Can I ask you a personal question?" - Geralt wondered, making you chuckle upon hearing his words. He'd asked you a million personal questions before, why was he now asking for permission. "Of course you can, darling. If you're capable of asking me how I like it when I take your dick so well, why would you stop yourself?"

"Were you in love with anyone before that night? I don't mean fucking, Y/N. I mean feelings you'd describe as truly being in love." Well, you could understand why Geralt asked for permission. You've mentioned your time in Nilfgaard here and there, mainly when Geralt asked how your business with Djikstra and the Nothern Realms was going. You've also indirectly admitted to having a lot of lovers and sex while acting as Emhyr's consort... But he never asked you directly about anything in connection to Nilfgaard or anything you'd been up to during your separation. If there was anything you thought Geralt should know, you simply told him already. To answer his question, you had to think for a bit. There was one person who you were vulnerable around... But the 'L' word never slipped past your lips. As soon as you caught onto what unraveled in your chest, you panicked and cut ties with them. You told a few filthy little lies to see them leave the court, but you ensured he wouldn't hang them. They were just... Discharged.

It wasn't the right time and place - you weren't ready to fall in love back then. Your entire world revolved around war, politics, and ensuring you were one of the most dreaded generals of Emhyr's army and the commander of his private troops. Love and emotions were scary. That's why you never let people under your skin, rather charming everyone than being your genuine self with them. Until these two idiots showed up.

"No. The answer is... No." - You admitted. "And for how long were you seeing the other people? Now and back then?" "Not for too long, honestly. A couple months was the longest 'relationship' I can recall. Now that I think of it, the thought of falling in love and belonging to someone horrified me... Until you happened to me." "We're getting there... How long do you know Jaskier by now?" "Four... Maybe five years? Ever since we've met in the inn." "I think you just answered your question." "What do you mean?" "That's up for you to decipher, my dove." - Geralt sighed, gently kissing your temple before putting the empty glass away. - "I'll come across as a cock with what I'm about to say... But can we go to sleep now? I'm fucking tired and have to leave by dusk tomorrow." "Having a rendezvous at five sounds awfully like Dijsktra. This is what you get from agreeing to go on his little field trips."

[the-night-belongs-to-you]

A faint tugging sensation on his soul mark warned him of his beloved’s approach. 

Warmth spread through his chest as he tipped back his goblet and finished the wine inside it, standing from his resting place at the table set aside for the musicians. 

He made his way along the edge of the room to where the piano was being played by Ezio; near the tables reserved for nobles, of course. The soft flow of Ezio’s music blended pleasantly with the low murmur of conversation in the ballroom, continuing even as Jaskier quietly cleared his throat and caught Ezio’s eye. Ezio tilted his head at Jaskier with a silent question in his gaze. Jaskier nodded near imperceptibly and loudly, with his usual theatrics, said, “C minor, put it in C minor.” Faintly, a smirk tugged at the corners of Ezio’s lips as he decidedly did not switch to C minor, but rather G minor; not that most people in the room would notice anyhow, caught up as they were in their own worlds. Their attention began to shift when Jaskier’s voice rose with the new melody, however.

“Where have all the good men gone?” He crooned, sitting down beside Ezio on the bench and draping himself against the man’s side. “And where are all the gods?” His heavy-lidded gaze turned to the other musicians, who stood at the ready nearby. 

They gazed determinedly back at him. 

“Where’s the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?” He sang to them. Gracefully, he turned around to face the nobles seated behind him, whilst keeping himself carelessly relaxed against the pianist’s side. “Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?” Nearly every noble met his gaze as his eyes flitted over them, already enraptured with the song. 

He found the man he was looking for without trouble. 

“Late at night, I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need,” Holding the note, he stared intently at the lord responsible for his current state of detainment. 

Suddenly, he stood with a flourish and whipped around to face the musicians again. “Hit it!” He winked, and danced with fast-paced steps towards them to match the rising tempo, grinning at the feeling of their harmonizing vibrating through his chest. 

“I need a hero! I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night,” He lithely twisted and turned around them, finger-tips just barely brushing their arms and shoulders as he carefully avoided disrupting them. 

“He’s gotta be strong,” From the corner of his eye, Jaskier observed the lord as he stood from his seat. 

“And he’s gotta be fast,” A pleased smirk graced his lips as the displeased lord began to move in his direction.

“And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.” His soul mark continued to tingle. 

With one last touch to the others, he stepped into the crowd. They parted for him with ease, leaving a trail for the lord to follow. “I need a hero! I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning light.” The minstrels’ voices followed him through the room, matching their rhythm perfectly. ‘He wanted the best musicians in the Continent to fill his court’ Jaskier thought as he sang to the people around him, ‘well, he’s got them.’ 

“He’s gotta be sure 

and it’s gotta be soon 

and he’s gotta be larger than life,

larger than life.”

The lord continued his pursuit, quickly following in the bard’s footsteps. Jaskier turned to face him while dancing away, staring him down teasingly. Keeping the lord distracted was paramount, so as to allow Geralt as many advantages as possible. Not that Jaskier couldn’t have managed to escape on his own, but he wasn’t alone in his confinement; the people currently joining him in song were being held against their will as well and they didn’t have the experience or training Jaskier had. As such, he instead put his clever mind to use and schemed with them in the quiet nights during their long, unwilling stay in the lord’s castle. Among the topics discussed during those nights were the hows and whys of everyone’s capture. The lord’s men only managed to grab Jaskier when his path diverged from Geralt’s, the Witcher following rumors of a nesting wyvern on the outskirts of Novigrad while Jaskier made his way to Oxenfurt, intending to partake in a small annual music festival being held within the city. They were supposed to meet at the university two weeks from their parting. But before Jaskier even made it to Oxenfurt, he was overtaken; the night after they parted, he had set up camp in a clearing a fair distance away from the road and was ambushed in his sleep. Despite his training at Oxenfurt, and with Geralt, he didn’t have the means to fight half a dozen men on his own.

“Somewhere after midnight, in my wildest fantasy,” the guards near the entrance to the room began to shift and mutter to one-another. Geralt must be within the castle by now; certainly close enough to hear his bard.

“Somewhere just beyond my reach,” The lord’s hand whispered along his arm, a purposeful near-miss on Jaskier’s part. “There's someone reaching back for me.” Geralt had no way of knowing the purpose of his bard’s kidnapping, as there wouldn’t be a ransom or the like sent out. All he could know was his bard hadn’t been in Oxenfurt, as the faint pull of his soul mark would have guided him in a different direction when he neared the city. And once he followed the pull of his mark far enough, he likely would have found the evidence that pointed to where the bard was instead; all his belongings having been left in his camp. Even his lute, as the guards were dim enough to leave it when they dragged him away. Jaskier hadn’t gone without a fight, of course, and had torn a guard’s cloak, leaving the bloodied strip on the off-chance Geralt found his camp, that he might scent it and track him down.

“Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat,” Jaskier spun around the lord, sweeping a hand against the man’s lower back. In response, the lord turned and made to grab Jaskier, only to lose him to the throng of people once more.

“It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet!” He cheekily belted. The familiar buzz of his mark urged him on. He briefly danced with various nobles and servants alike as he passed by them, listening intently for any noises that might be heard over the music but he couldn’t hear anything. 

Yet.

“Up where the mountains meet the heavens above, out where the lightning splits the sea,” He mused to himself as he sang, wondering if Geralt would be amenable to visiting the coast again when this fiasco was sorted out. 

“I could swear there is someone somewhere, watching me.” Geralt watched him often, he wasn’t particularly subtle about it. Not that he really could be, with his heavy golden gaze. But then, Jaskier watched just as often, if not more. Speaking of being watched, there was the lord again, closing in. 

“Through the wind and the chill and the rain and the storm and the flood,” This time, Jaskier let the lord come close enough to grab him but before the man could get a good enough grip to hold him in place, Jaskier placed his hands on the nobleman in turn and pulled him into the dance. The lord tried to speak but Jaskier gleefully sang over him.

“I can feel his approach like a fire in my blood.” Closer and closer, they stepped and twirled and glided toward the doors at the front of the hall, Jaskier leading despite his partner’s attempts to gain control. Taking a moment to catch his breath a bit, he let the repetition of the lyrics wash over him; he was really quite proud of his fellow minstrels for playing the song so wonderfully but then, they weren’t kidnapped for nothing. Ah, the Lord was trying to talk to him again. Too bad Jaskier wasn’t interested in listening. Oh, was a shout he heard? Just as his partner turned to get a better look at the doors, Jaskier spun them around to cut off his view, anticipation flooding him as he continued to sing.

“I need a hero

I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light,”

Though it was difficult to tell with all the people in front of them, Jaskier would hazard a guess that they were roughly seven meters away from the doors.

“and he's gotta be sure,”

‘Come on, my love’

“And it's gotta be soon,”

‘Come on’

“And he's gotta be larger than life,”

As the music hit the scripted lull, the sounds of swords clashing and pained shouts filtered in with more clarity from the front of the hall. The lord paused, his grip on Jaskier loosening as a concerned furrow etched itself into his brow. Just as he drew breath to yell to his guards, Jaskier took his chances and slammed his forehead against the man’s nose. Surrounded by guests as they were, it would take the guards on the outskirts of the room at least a minute or so to reach them. The lord stumbled back with a choked cry, blood dripping from his reddened nose. Gingerly, he placed a hand on the injury and glared at Jaskier in utter fury. Jaskier responded with a nasty grin, ignoring the resulting ache in his head. The beat quickly picked up once more, and without further hesitation, the nobleman lunged at the bard.  Clearly, he had grown tired of playing their game of cat and mouse.

Only…

“Oh he's gotta be strong,”

He must not have realized he was the mouse,

“And he's gotta be fast,”

and Jaskier was the cat.

“And he's gotta be fresh from the fight,”

Jaskier smoothly sidestepped the lord and used the man’s momentum against him, grabbing his shoulders and kicking his knees out to force him to the floor. As the guards finally broke through the nobles around him, Jaskier nimbly grabbed the knife he nicked during dinner from his half-buttoned doublet to lay the flat of it firmly against the lord’s throat, ready to slice the vulnerable skin without hesitation.

“I need a hero!”

The guards stilled at the threat to their lord, tensing as the room came to a standstill; quiet gasps and worried murmurs following Jaskier’s somewhat ironic declaration. The fight in the hall past the doors had fallen silent as well. Within moments, they were thrust open to reveal the White Wolf himself, anger rolling off him in near palpable waves.

“Geralt!” Jaskier said in a voice heavy with joy and relief. “Fancy meeting you here, eh?” Taking in the view of a man he hadn’t seen in nearly a month, he felt much of his tension melt away as his love stalked closer. With eyes darting between Jaskier, the Witcher, and their lord, the guards soon relented and let Geralt pass them by with their weapons still held at the ready. 

“Jaskier,” growled Geralt, eyes roaming Jaskier’s form for any injury or illness. He wouldn’t find any; the nobleman at his feet, as much of a fucking bastard as he was, kept any and all hands off of what he considered his. Aside from his rough capture and lack of freedom, Jaskier was kept as comfortable as the situation allowed. 

‘Small mercies’ the bard thought bitterly.

“Did you find my lute, by chance?” He asked. “I’m afraid these fine gentlemen,” the knife tilted against the lord’s throat, biting a thin red line into it. “didn’t give me leave to pack up. Or talk, really.” 

Geralt ignored the trembling nobleman entirely, for the moment, keeping his gaze glued to his bard instead. He grunted in response and pulled a bloodied scrap of cloth from one of his pockets. Jaskier lit up a bit at the sight, pleased that what little he had been able to do had been of use; though Geralt would have found him either way. They’ll always find each other.

Pulling the knife away with minute care, Jaskier shoved the lord aside in favor of reaching for his Witcher, who received him with absolute relief. Geralt inhaled deeply, desperate to fill his lungs with his bard's scent. "You're okay." He muttered, the assurance grounding him.

Jaskier nuzzled against him in turn. Smirking, he softly asked “Did you like the song, my dear Witcher?”

Geralt huffed in fond exasperation, embracing Jaskier tighter in response.